


diamonds & pearls

by fruti2flutie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, a mess tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 16:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10621185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruti2flutie/pseuds/fruti2flutie
Summary: Sicheng has never gone abroad. He’s never done a lot of things, like ridden on a boat or gotten drunk or fallen in love, but there’s always time for a first. (Or, the very simple universe where Sicheng is Weird and Taeyong is in charge of protecting him.)





	1. pull the lever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you climb in through my window?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HI I LOVE TAEWIN
> 
> basically this fic is 60k of "???????" i have no idea how i came up with it, but the moment i started paying more attention to nct?? this happened??? it's very chill & easygoing, despite being an agent au...... of sorts. it's the longest fic i've written in the shortest amount of time!!! i started in january?? wow?? i never expected to finish!?!!!? seriously, thanks to everyone who supported me/put up with my crying during this process, especially lauren & krys!!! i don't think i would've finished d&p w/o ur encouragements!!! there's gonna be a longer mention at the very end of this so stay tuned lmao
> 
> the fic title is taken from my fav nct127 song ["back 2 u (AM 1:27)"](https://youtu.be/CngnAd7MX9E), and each chapter is named after lyrics of a song with title+link in the end notes of the chapter!! feel free to leave kudos, comments, and bookmarks!! i also have a tag on tumblr dedicated to the content of this fic, like my rambles throughout writing or fic-related asks, which will have a link in the end notes of every chapter :-) :-) :-)
> 
> again, this fic is 60k of ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i have it all written & am in the process of editing to my liking!! hopefully it won't take too long to get onto ao3 lmao
> 
> ANYWAY HAVE FUN READING I LOVE TAEWIN

There’s something about summer rain that makes Sicheng want to visit the Amazon rainforest. It’s the humidity, he thinks, using the collar of his shirt to wipe the perspiration settling on his face. If it’s this sticky and swelteringly hot in mainland China, how would it be in a tropical land two degrees from the equator? Much worse than this, he can imagine, which is why he endures the temperature as he sits under the shelter and waits for the bus like a normal human being.

“Seeing a monkey up close would be neat,” he murmurs to himself, imagining high treetops and sweetly scented flowers. Raindrops rolling off slick leaves. Quicksand. “Monkeys are cool, I guess.”

The businesswoman, on the phone and sitting next to him on the bench, purposefully scooches away.

The bus arrives, right on schedule, and Sicheng climbs aboard. Surprisingly, there aren’t that many people inside. He takes a seat in the back, placing his backpack beside him.

He’s heading back to the dorms after a quick outing at the mall to buy new training clothes. Typically, he avoids spending money on himself, but his old clothes are literally falling apart at the seams, where no amount of sewing or patchwork can save them. Yesterday, when practicing his routine for the upcoming performance festival, the zipper of his jacket came off and nearly took out his eye. The instructors have advised him to purchase a new set for his own and everyone else’s safety.

Money is tight, though. Sicheng has never had the option to carelessly spend it on whatever he pleases. He’s an orphan, and the orphanage he’s lived in all his life can only send him enough money for necessities. The arts university had accepted him last year on a scholarship that covers three-quarters of his tuition plus boarding, so he has to do part-time jobs whenever he’s not in class to cover the rest. Today is his short day: managing the register at the café across campus in the morning, attending classes from noon to three, and then delivering mail to different departments until five. Sometimes other students will pay him to help them with choreography, but no one has approached him lately. (Good, because Sicheng is tired.)

It’s almost eight right now, and Sicheng has a philosophy paper to start when he gets to the dorm. The mere thought of it makes him yawn, eyes watery. Sicheng never gets enough sleep. Coffee is his best friend, which he thankfully gets for free at the café, but nothing can beat a power nap. He shuts his eyes, listens to the raindrops, and hopes he’ll wake when the bus stops at his school.

——

It’s half past midnight when Sicheng finally finishes typing his essay. His eyes burn, his fingers are shaking, but it’s done. The hand-me-down laptop that he’d gotten from an upperclassman in high school is truly a blessing during times like these, because right after he sends the document to his professor he squirms off his desk chair and onto his bed, underneath his covers. If he didn’t have a laptop he’d have to use a computer in the library, and it would be weird for him to roll to his bed from there. (Rolling on the ground in public is frowned upon, apparently.)

Having already washed and brushed his teeth, Sicheng turns off the lights and goes straight to sleep. The open window blows in cool summer air. His bed creaks, but he’s gotten used to it. At least his pillow smells nice — like vanilla.

Sicheng sleeps like he’s in a coma. He gets a couple hours of uninterrupted rest until there’s something poking at his shoulder. With no sign of it stopping, he sits up and blearily rubs his eyes. He stares into the darkness, too tired to grab for his glasses, and grumbles instinctively, “Who’s there?”

A dark shadow looming over him flashes a pearly white smile in the night. A person? Uh, no. Certainly _not_ a burglar — they would probably lose money if they stole Sicheng’s stuff.

“Dong Sicheng,” they say, sounding relieved.

Sicheng frowns. “No, _I’m_ Sicheng. That’s _my_ name. Who’re you, fake Sicheng?”

The shadow straightens. “Kun. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he declares, like an introduction is a normal thing to do right now.

“Dude, there’s no sun outside.” Sicheng yawns and rubs his eyes. “Can you, I dunno, make my acquaintance in the morning? I’m tired.”

“I am afraid I can’t wait that long. You see, Sicheng, I have matters to discuss with you that are of utmost importance.”

Sicheng turns on the light and puts on his glasses. He sees that Kun, mysterious shadow, is actually a guy around his age wearing a Northface jacket, Adidas training pants, and Nike sneakers. The clashing is at the questionable level of Sicheng’s everyday fashion, but at least he’s handsome, Sicheng will give him that.

Wait just a second.

“Did you climb in through my window?”

“Yes,” Kun answers smoothly. “Now, I have to inform you that your life may be in grave danger. Well, not to that extent. We have recently received word that a notorious black market dealer is—”

“This is the fourth floor. Did you use a ladder?” Sicheng blinks. “Could you even carry a ladder that high? Props to you if you can. I could never do that.”

Kun holds his hands out, a peaceful gesture. “Sicheng, focus.”

“It four a.m. You’re asking for a lot.” Sicheng pauses. “Also, I don’t know you and you just broke into my dorm.”

“Give me five minutes to fully explain myself,” Kun insists. “I have no ill intentions.”

Taking a moment to assess Kun, who has big puppy eyes and side swept Hollywood actor hair, Sicheng surrenders. He lets Kun sits on the end of his bed and points at the clock. “I’m timing you.” Kun smiles.

“I am Qian Kun, twenty-one, and I am part of a specialized organization that works to protect individuals who could possibly become tangled in businesses unrelated to them. NCT, or Non-Categorizable Transports, is responsible for the protection of the innocent and the elimination of the guilty. We are nonfederal, but we have divisions all over Asia and hundreds of workers. My job entails ensuring an individual’s safety until the threat is taken care of.”

“So... you’re like an agent,” Sicheng surmises slowly, “in a big, secret agent company.”

“I guess you could say that. I’m surprised you could come to that conclusion.”

“It was either that or ninja,” Sicheng says. “No offense, but your stealthiness could use some work.” Kun shrugs, unruffled by the remark.

Sicheng asks, then, “Why’re you coming to me?”

“Ah, yes. The most important point.” Kun clears his throat. “Some important files were discovered from recovery databases all over China. It took us a few months to put the pieces together, but when we did almost all the files led straight to you.

“You, Sicheng, seem to be the son of an infamous black market dealer with lots of money, assets, and connections. Your files not only were missing, but they were also severely tampered with. Someone tried to erase your true identity from—”

“I don’t have a family,” interjects Sicheng. “I’m an orphan. I was raised in an orphanage. My mom abandoned me when I was two, and I never even met my father. I highly doubt he would care about me now.” He purses his lips, confused. “Unless... Am I _important_ to him or something?”

“That is what we don’t want to find out,” proclaims Kun. “Your birth father is... Well, sugarcoating it, he’s awful. Many stories have gone around from how cruel his exchanges are to how merciless he is to those who disobey him.” He gages Sicheng’s reaction, pensive and quiet, and continues, “It is not unusual for dealers to pass down their wealth, their legacy to the next generation to keep the lineage going. We fear that, if he finds you, you will be forced to suffer this fate alongside him.”

Sicheng nods. “I see.” He stares at Kun, eyes narrowed. “How do I know _you’re_ not evil? You could be feeding me all this info to use it against me, and then tomorrow I’m dead in a dumpster. Not cool.”

Kun doesn’t laugh at Sicheng’s hypotheticals. He grows more serious, actually, putting his hands together. “I took a personal oath when I was thirteen,” he starts. “I joined NCT to protect people from the real-life bullies. NCT offered me food, shelter, and companionship when I had nothing.

“I lost my family because no one tried to save us from loan sharks and debt collectors, from their ruthlessness and inhumanity. We were poor, but they wanted us to be poorer. We managed to get away for a month, jumping from safehaven to safehaven, but it was short-lived. We were found, I was separated from them, and I have not seen them since.”

“Whoa,” Sicheng says. He feels guilty disregarding Kun like that. He has a bad habit of talking nonsense, and sometimes it leads to people feeling hurt. “Sorry, I— I really didn’t mean to offend.”

Kun smiles. “I am a righteous man. I stand on the side of good. I promised myself I would protect as many lives as I could from terror. And, in doing so, I live with the hope that I’ll meet my family again.”

Sicheng whistles. He can see Kun as the type: heroic protagonist, fighting in the name of justice. Maybe not like Spider-Man, with a skin-tight bodysuit and superpowers, but like a firefighter. An everyday sort of hero, except Kun probably knows kung fu.

“Okay. I believe you,” Sicheng says finally. “You seem trustworthy, and you have a good story. Someone should make it a movie.” Kun grins. “What is — what’s the name? — NCT? What are they gonna do to protect me, ge?”

“Send you out of the country,” Kun says simply. Sicheng’s eyes widen. “To South Korea, to be exact. The division there is close enough to keep in contact with the China branch and far enough to keep you out of harm’s way. The agents there are trained even better than I am.”

Sicheng runs a hand through his hair. “How long? I go to school here — on scholarship, because I’m broke. No spare change in my pockets. _And_ the performance festival is next week!” He falls back on his bed, squishing his cheeks. “I can’t even _speak_ Korean,” he moans.

“Not to worry. The college you’re transferring to is a liberal arts school, very similar to your current one. You’ll be a foreign exchange student, so the scholarship will still apply as long as you don’t flunk out of any classes. NCT will cover the rest of your tuition, along with the expenses for your flights and living arrangements, too,” explains Kun. “Your departure is planned for next month, which is plenty of time to finish your summer term. It will be a week into the new semester, though, but I am positive you can catch up.”

“Oh.” Sicheng sits back up. “That... works out rather nicely. Sweet.” He frowns. “But still. I have to master Korean in only a few weeks? Really?”

“You don’t _have_ to, but it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Kun says. “We don’t know how long you’ll have to live there.”

“Can I still talk to my friends here? The kids back at the orphanage, too. I visit them every weekend, and if I can’t see them anymore...”

“You can communicate, but sparingly. If you give away too much information, it may complicate matters. Your true identity has to remain as unknown to others as possible.” Kun glances at his watch — an Apple Watch, which fits his outfit surprisingly well. “We can discuss it more when we approach closer to the date. I think my time is long over.”

Sicheng checks his clock. “Honestly, I wasn’t timing you. I lied.”

“I’m okay with that,” Kun laughs, standing to leave.

“Hey, another thing before you go, ge,” Sicheng says, covering up a yawn. “Did you _really_ need to tell me all this in the middle of the night? I have class in four hours.”

“I suppose I could have waited until morning,” Kun says, tilting his head. He walks to the window, leaning on its frame. “I happened to be around the neighborhood, so I thought it would be best to stop by now. Saves me the effort.”

Deadpan, Sicheng asks, “Was entering through the window also necessary?” 

“I couldn’t very well go through the front doors,” Kun rationalizes. Sicheng gapes at him, open-mouthed. “Let’s just say I’ve had lots of training.” Before he leaves, he scribbles his number on a piece of scratch paper on Sicheng’s desk. “Contact me if you need anything. I will keep you updated.” With that, he hops out the window and out of Sicheng’s dorm.

Sicheng hurries to the ledge to peer out and see where Kun had landed. Sure enough, on the ground Kun is waving up at him, unharmed and still in one piece. (He seems to have landed in a puddle, though, but he doesn’t seem bothered.) Sicheng waves back, amazed, and makes sure to lock his window.

He doesn’t need another secret agent sneaking in his room an hour before dawn to upturn his life. That’s enough family secrets Sicheng can handle for one day. If there’s a rich aunt hiding somewhere in the Himalayan Mountains he doesn’t know about, Lord bless her soul, she can wait until tomorrow.

What Sicheng needs is sleep — and time to process what the hell just happened to him.

——

In the morning, Sicheng wakes up and squints at the ceiling. He looks to the window, sees that it’s closed, and carefully folds his hands over his stomach.

He breathes in.

For the remaining weeks of August, Sicheng’s life resumes its usual pace. Classes go quickly. His jobs are loaded. China is a bustling country, an ocean for the miniscule squid that is Dong Sicheng, trying his hardest not to be swept under the relentless tide.

The instructors and other students get word of his admittance into the foreign exchange program over the next few days, and they’re ecstatic for him. Almost everyone knows of his unfavorable financial situation, so they’d all jumped for joy when they heard he would be getting close to a full ride to Seoul. No one had asked him why, and no one objected. They had congratulated him, giving Sicheng their best wishes.

Kun doesn’t visit him again, but notes appear in Sicheng’s backpack out of the blue with details about his trip to Korea, how he’ll be cared for, what he can expect. Since Sicheng doesn’t own a phone he can’t text Kun, but he knows they’re from the agent. Sicheng calls Kun every now and again with a friend’s phone or public telephone booths, checking in. The day before the summer performance festival Sicheng asks how things are going.

“ _Everything is progressing according to plan_ ,” Kun assures. “ _Break a leg at your performance! Is that the right way to say it? Don’t actually break any bones, Sicheng._ ”

Sicheng does great. He performs a self-choreographed dance with four others, traditional Chinese footwork and movements taking up center stage. The crowd roars at their presence, their passion, and Sicheng revels in the pumping blood in his veins. By the end of it, he’s out of breath and sweating through his sparkling embroidered outfit, but he loves the satisfying applause, the ache in his legs.

Dancing is what makes Sicheng feel alive.

Backstage, Kun greets him with a bouquet of flowers and a proud grin. “You did wonderful, Sicheng,” he praises.

The sentiments nearly bring Sicheng to tears as he pulls the elder into a tight hug. For some strange, inexplicable reason, Sicheng wants to believe this is what having a family is like.

——

D-3.

Sicheng is trying to write Korean characters in a small handbook, but the lines aren’t matching up with the ones on the screen of his laptop. Dropping his head on his desk, he groans loudly.

“Why are there so many circles and squares? Who decided to put shapes into a language? That’s what geometry is for. No one even _likes_ geometry.”

“I’m guessing Korean isn’t going too well for you,” Kun chuckles. He’d come over to talk about the upcoming schedule but was appalled to discover Sicheng’s inability to do laundry. He’s sitting on Sicheng’s bed now, knees tucked under him, folding clean clothes to put in Sicheng’s suitcase.

“It’s so _hard_ ,” whines Sicheng. “It’s a billion times easier listening to it than reading and speaking it...”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. Like I said before, you don’t have to be an expert. Enough to get by is fine. You can carry around a translation book.”

Sicheng sighs heavily. He stares at Kun, pouting. “Ge, do you know how to speak another language?”

“Nope,” Kun says, and Sicheng gasps, covering his mouth in shock. “What? I’m all domestic. No need to challenge myself with another language. In my spare time, though, I try to get familiarized with reading English.”

“Showoff. Overachiever.”

Kun isn’t miffed at the childish remarks, finishing his folding and examining the contents of the suitcase. “Is this all you’re packing?” he asks. There are only five shirts, three pairs of jeans, two shorts, training gear, sleeping clothes, and plastic bags of socks and underwear. For an indefinite stay in Korea.

Sicheng nods. “It’s all I have. I’m broke, remember?” Quickly sitting up, he whips out his new iPhone from his pocket and grins. “Thanks for the smartphone, by the way. It makes me feel like the poor heroine in a romance drama.”

“You’re welcome,” Kun says, chuckling. “NCT wants you to be as comfortable as possible for your stay. A phone is nothing.”

After Sicheng gives up on learning Korean he waddles over to the bed and drapes himself over it, lying on his belly. Kun rubs his back, and he sighs.

“This is... really scary.” Sicheng peeks at Kun, hopeful. “Are you sure you can’t come with me, ge? I might need to hold someone’s hand when the plane goes airborne, and I’m not sure the stranger who sits beside me will agree to that.”

“All I can do is drop you off at your gate,” Kun says, and Sicheng groans. “I’m in the _China_ division, remember? I won’t be of any use elsewhere.” He gives Sicheng another pat on the back. “You’ll be fine. You can call me any time — right when you land, if you really want. But I can promise you, the guys in Korea know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Sicheng.  

“You’ll be living with an agent as well. I’m not entirely certain of the details, but I know you can adapt. Whoever they are, they’ll take good care of you.”

Sicheng lifts his head and bumps Kun with it. “Like you?”

Kun smiles. “I’ll bet.”

——

Sunday arrives in no time. When Kun drives Sicheng to the airport he makes sure to turn the radio on high. Sicheng is buzzing with nervous energy, and the loud music helps to drown out his thoughts. He’s stuck staring at the streetlights as they zoom across the highway, closer and closer to Sicheng’s place of departure.

What makes him nervous is the unknown. He’s said goodbye to the younger orphanage kids, studied enough Korean to understand basic phrases, and packed all his things in either his suitcase or backpack. Sicheng is prepared for Korea, but he can never be prepared for what he doesn’t know. Reality is different than practice. Sicheng doesn’t want to mess anything up.

The airport is crowded, as airports always are. Loud voices arguing about baggage weights, last minute phone calls home. After dropping off Sicheng’s suitcase, Kun makes sure Sicheng doesn’t get jostled by the hoards of people, holding Sicheng’s hand as he guides him to the gate. It makes Sicheng feel like a baby chick.

NCT has booked Sicheng an evening flight, so he’ll get to Korea at eight or nine. They get through the security check, Kun showing off a special badge to the guard that lets him through without a ticket. Sicheng whistles, impressed, and Kun remarks bashfully, “Stop that. I have to keep you from getting lost.”

Sicheng’s gate is at the farthest end of the airport. There are twists and turns, moving walkways and brightly lit souvenir shops. There are so many varieties of snow globes, and Sicheng is almost tempted to buy one for himself — almost, because Sicheng has exceptional willpower. When they arrive at his gate, the announcement for boarding rings over the speaker system. Kun leads Sicheng to wait in line for the ticket check. After the stewardess scans his ticket, Sicheng uses the opportunity to pull the agent in a hug.

“I’ll miss China,” Sicheng murmurs into Kun’s neck. He’s not going to cry, because he’s stronger than that. The sense of impending loneliness is overwhelming, but he can handle it.

Kun says calmly, “You’ll fall in love with Korea.” He lets go, squeezing Sicheng’s arm, and urges him towards the terminal. “Go. You can do this.”

“I can do this,” echoes Sicheng, nodding. He adjusts his backpack, gripping the straps like his life depends on it, and heads into the jet bridge.

He greets the staff at the front of the plane and finds a seat. With a bit of struggle he pushes his way to a free window seat, keeping his backpack with him under his chair. He gets a spot by the left wing of the plane, and he takes a few pictures of the sight for commemorative sake. An elderly woman takes the seat next to him, smiling as she sits, and he makes sure the folding table is upright.

“Thank you, young man.”

“Of course.” Sicheng smiles. He’s glad she’s speaking Mandarin. “Are you visiting Korea?”

“Yes,” she replies. “My daughter lives in Ansan with her husband. It’s their three-year anniversary.”

“That’s nice! I’m going for school,” Sicheng says. “It’s my first time, so.” He shrugs. “Not sure what to expect.”

The woman chuckles and jabs Sicheng’s arm. “My word, are you afraid?”

Sicheng scratches his head, sheepish. “Ah, yeah. I’ve never even gone on a plane before.” He says, very seriously, “I might have to hold your hand.”

She laughs, slapping Sicheng’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Even still, she lets Sicheng grip her hand and cower as the plane takes to the sky, the familiar land Sicheng’s known all his life disappearing far below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“be my luck” by up10tion](https://youtu.be/cLA5VPstH5w) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	2. might be a little strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go,” Sicheng replies. He holds out his hand, palm up, and makes his index and middle finger of his other hand walk across it. Taeyong squints. “School. Go school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! wow thanks for all the love!!!! i don't think i'll reply to comments until the very last chapter bc it may get annoying or repetitive of me to respond every time lmao, but i really appreciate them!! and the bookmarks!!! and the kudos!!! i just!!!!!!!! really appreciate whoever reads my fic!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> i didn't mean to talk again lol but seriously thanks for reading <3

Korean air is cleaner than the air in China. Sicheng takes a lungful of it when he exits the plane and almost starts choking.

Although it’s the middle of the night, the lights inside the airport shine brightly. Sicheng looks around to see if anyone is holding a sign up for him, because Kun had told him over the phone a moment ago that an agent would be (after which Sicheng had wailed, “I can’t read the food signs, ge,” and Kun advised him to look at the pictures). He walks, eyes focused, and soon sees a pair of casually-dressed guys with the shorter of the two holding a square of cardboard with Sicheng’s name in both Korean and Chinese characters.

Sicheng goes closer, heart pounding with trepidation. The wavy-haired tall one — maybe a few centimeters taller than Sicheng — blinks his large, droopy eyes and asks, “Are you Dong Sicheng?”

“Oh! You speak Mandarin!” exclaims Sicheng, recognizing his native tongue easily.

“It isn’t the greatest, but I can keep a conversation.” The man smiles, sticking out his hand. “I’m Agent Youngho John Suh. Youngho is my first name, by the way, but I go by Johnny. Middle name.”

Sicheng greets him warmly. He glances at the other male, dark-haired with sharp features, beside Johnny. Unlike Johnny, he doesn’t look very engaged or interested in their exchange, but Sicheng asks anyway, “And this is...?”

“Don’t mind him. He’s not good around new people. He doesn’t know Mandarin either,” Johnny says, waving the question off with a hand. The other male swats him with the cardboard, sensing the insult, but Johnny remains civil as he asks, “How much Korean have you learned?”

Sicheng switches to Korean, hesitant, the sound robotic to his own ears. “Hello.” He pauses. Struck with an idea, he grins and gestures to the unnamed individual, who raises an eyebrow. “Who? Are you?”

While Johnny holds back a snort the other man chuckles, and it illuminates his face as he answers, “Taeyong. Hello.” He says it the same way Sicheng had, and Sicheng is both grateful and embarrassed at the response.

“That’s a start,” Johnny says, in Mandarin.

“I can understand better than I can speak,” Sicheng proclaims. “Basic words. I use lots of context clues.”

Johnny asks, in Korean, “So can you understand me like this?” Sicheng nods. “Oh, great. That helps a whole lot.”

“S-Slowly,” Sicheng says, in Korean. He winces at his stutter but goes on, “And... no big words.”

“Alright. No worries.” Johnny points a thumb to his right. “Shall we go to the baggage claim?” Sicheng nods. After they retrieve Sicheng’s suitcase, they head for the car.

They walk in relative silence to the parking lot, Sicheng trailing a step behind as the agents lead the way. Johnny comments on the stores they pass, the weather outside, and other miscellaneous topics that Sicheng unintentionally tunes out. Taeyong spins the cardboard square in between his fingers, also probably ignoring Johnny. When they get outside Sicheng shivers; the air feels frigid, despite it still being summer, and Sicheng hadn’t thought to wear a jacket.

The car is a gray sedan, sleek and clean. Johnny takes out the keys and unlocks the doors.

“Taeyong will sit in the back,” he tells Sicheng. “He’s not allowed to sit in shotgun. All Taeyong does is nap and not talk to me.” He gets in the driver’s seat. “Give him your stuff. He’ll put it away.”

Sicheng hands Taeyong his suitcase and backpack, making sure to take out his phone. “Thank you,” he says.

“No biggie,” says Taeyong, opening the trunk to put away Sicheng’s luggage. Sicheng stares at him, unfamiliar with the phrase, so he clarifies clumsily, “Uh, no big deal. Like, it wasn’t much.” He closes the trunk, pursing his lips. “Yeah.”

When they’re all in the car, Johnny makes a point to remind Sicheng, “Taeyong is not good around new people.” Taeyong, again, swats him with the cardboard.

The expressways of Korea are fascinating to Sicheng. Cars drive faster, switching lanes constantly, barely aware of traffic regulations. By the waterside, the road extends on and on. He gazes out the window, the city lights twinkling in the dark night, and traces invisible hearts on the glass. Taeyong has the aux cord plugged into his phone, so soft R&B music plays faintly.

“We’ve read your file, and I think we have a good sense of who you are background-wise,” Johnny begins. “I don’t know how much you know about us, but I’ll try to fill you in on who _we_ are.

“The both of us are in NCT’s Korea division. I am twenty-two years of age, Korean-American, almost six-foot-two — one-eighty-three centimeters, I mean. I always forget everywhere but the States is the metric system. America is weird, let me tell you.

“My family and I grew up in Chicago, Illinois. My parents have been huge benefactors for NCT, which made me attracted to this line of work. They’re doctors and like taking care of people, philanthropic. NCT is sort of in the same area, except there are more fight scenes and hacking.”

Sicheng lets it all sink in, but it doesn’t help that he barely understood Johnny’s rich vocabulary. He nods, pretends he knows what all the words mean, until Taeyong pipes up.

“Johnny’s parents pay NCT a lot of money,” he summarizes. “Johnny wanted to be an agent so he can punch holes into walls and be a nerd on the computer.”

“Oh,” says Sicheng. He could understand _that_. (For a moment, Taeyong looks annoyed. It passes, and Sicheng is guessing that’s just his face.)

“Right. Thanks, man.” Johnny hums. “I started a long time ago, and I’m proud to say I do a good job. Even though it’s normally a highly secretive occupation, my whole family is a big part of my agent life. That should be the name of my autobiography — don’t steal that.” He looks at the rearview mirror. “Taeyong, would you mind introducing yourself?”

As Sicheng turns to stare at him expectantly, the other male clears his throat. “I’m Taeyong,” he starts, and he frowns when Johnny lets a laugh slip. “I’ve been an agent at NCT for six years. Same age as Johnny. I, uh, conveniently already attend the college you’ll be attending, dance major, which means I’ll be, well. We’re going to... Hold on, together, we’ll—”

“Taeyong will be your undercover bodyguard,” finishes Johnny. “In the loosest sense of the phrase.”

Sicheng instinctively looks at Taeyong again, who clarifies, “I’ll be taking care of you. And we’ll be living together.” He makes a large circle with his hands. “Roommates.”

“Roommates,” Sicheng repeats, nodding. He’s shared rooms with lots of people. At the orphanage, he was in a room with seven other guys. Last year, he dormed with a freshman who didn’t believe in showers. Taeyong, from first impressions, doesn’t seem so bad in comparison.

The rest of the ride is rather quiet. Taeyong sprawls himself across the backseat, and Johnny drives them onto an inner road. He’s a slow driver, so Sicheng spends the whole time ogling the foreign billboards and buildings. Sicheng sees a lot of coffee shops and food stalls, and he wonders how different they taste compared to China’s. He’s heard about rice cakes and kimchi, and he’s dying to try them. One day at a time, he thinks forlornly, because he’s jetlagged and really wants a bed right now.

Twenty minutes of driving later, Johnny stops in front of an apartment complex, putting the car in park.

“This is where we part,” he sighs. “Get some sleep, Sicheng. Your first class starts at nine. You can walk there.” He peers behind him, clicking his tongue at the snoozing Taeyong. “That lazyass will have to accompany you, so don’t worry about getting lost.”

Sicheng nods, smiling.

“I’m almost always at headquarters, which is on the other side of the city, not very far from here. Also—” Johnny takes Sicheng’s phone, touches some buttons, and hands it back. “My number. If Taeyong ever gives you a hard time, you can call me.”

“Okay.”

As Sicheng is getting out of the car Johnny adds, “Also, say Johnny ‘ _hyung_.’ For guy friends who are older than you, not just me, okay?”

“Okay.” Sicheng grabs his suitcase and backpack from the trunk, waking Taeyong in the process. He knocks on the window, getting Johnny’s attention, and says, “Bye-bye, Johnny hyung!”

Taeyong stumbles out while Johnny waves goodbye, and the car drives off. Taeyong and Sicheng stand together at the curb of the street, Sicheng scuffing his shoes. He glances at Taeyong and lightly prods him.

“Hi, Taeyong hyung.”

“Hey,” says Taeyong, the corners of his lips curling slightly. “We should get going.”

Inside the building, Taeyong presses the button to the fifth floor. The elevator dings, and they step in. It’s dimly lit, red walls and black tiles, and Sicheng stares at the changing numbers as they rise. He feels uneasy when the elevator shakes, but Taeyong looks as if it’s a normal occurrence. Sicheng wonders if Taeyong always appears that calm, cool, and collected.

Taeyong, who Sicheng notices is still holding the cardboard sign, brings them to the door at the end of the hall when they reach the fifth floor. There’s a keypad on the door handle. Taeyong punches in the passcode and it blinks blue, ringing with a sweet tune. He pushes open the door.

“This is my— _our_ place,” Taeyong declares, slipping out of his shoes. He walks in, rubbing the back of his neck, and weakly extends an arm that shows off the flat. He says, with zero enthusiasm, “Ta-dah.”

Sicheng follows. He looks around, taking in his surroundings, and props his suitcase by the wall. “Big,” he says.

Unlike his dorm in China, there are no traces of snack wrappers or stray clothes on the floor, no crumpled papers as missed shots by the garbage can. Blankets are folded, tables wiped clean. While it’s nice to be tidy, Sicheng isn’t used to it. It makes him feel... strange.

“Clean,” is what he settles for, not knowing how else to put it in Korean.

Taeyong goes around the apartment, giving Sicheng the tour. “This is the living room. Over there’s the kitchen. Down that hall are the bedrooms. Mine’s on the right, right across from yours. The bathroom is in that hallway, your side.”

Sicheng nods. “Okay.”

Taeyong’s place is nice. It smells like flowers and lemons. He has a big TV and a big bookcase with novels and a few board games. There are two couches, soft to the touch, cream-colored with matching pillows. There are also canvas paintings hung on the wall, a colorful splatter design by the kitchen and a landscape scene in the living room.

Sicheng likes it.

“You’re good? Do you need me to help you with anything?” asks Taeyong, breaking Sicheng’s train of thought.

“Ah.” Sicheng wants to shower, but he doesn’t have a towel or remember the word for it. Clearly, charades is the way to go. He rubs his arms, ruffles his hair, and makes a hissing noise as he waves his hand above his head, mimicking a showerhead, hoping his point gets across.

“Um, you want... A jacket? Lotion? Oh, you want a _shower_.” Sicheng grins broadly, nodding. “Okay, well, I’ll grab the stuff you need. You can put down your bags in your room.”

Sicheng grabs his suitcase and rolls to his room down the hall. Taeyong’s exclamation of, “Other way!” makes him spin on his heel and go to the _other_ bedroom. Whoops.

Sicheng’s room is plain, average-sized, but that’s to be expected. The walls are white; the dressers and desk are pale blue. The window shows the busy streets below, five stories down. His bedsheets are striped, black and white, and his closet has at least ten hangers inside. More than enough for him. The lamp on the bedside table makes him smile — it reminds him of his dorm. He’d also had one in the orphanage, so it feels like a small constant in his life. Sicheng pushes his suitcase to lie on the floor of the closet, unzipping it and taking out clothes for sleep.

Taeyong raps his knuckles on the door, and Sicheng looks up. He’s holding a white towel and a few bottles. “You can use this. I change the towels on laundry day — Sunday afternoon.” He tucks the bottles under his arm, holding out each one as he explains it. “This orange bottle is shampoo, and this red one is conditioner. The soap is this blue bottle. I keep them on the ledge of the tub, but whatever works for you works for me.”

In the bathroom, Taeyong shows Sicheng how to work the faucets. “Left is hot water. Right is cold. It takes some time to warm up, but it should be okay.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “That’s all, so... Yeah. Feel free to take anything you find in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I’ll be in my room.”

Sicheng makes sure to say “thank you” as Taeyong leaves, holding his towel tightly as the door shuts. Much like the shower, it’ll take some time for them to warm up to one another. Sicheng hopes they can do it sooner rather than later.

——

Sicheng survives his first night in Seoul. His mistake of nearly brushing his teeth with Taeyong’s face wash before bed was in no way life threatening, so he declares it a win on his part. The jetlag isn’t so bad for him, after a night’s rest, so he wakes up for his seven-thirty a.m. alarm with ease. (Well, he tumbles head first out of bed and doesn’t give himself a concussion, which is basically the same thing.)

He shuffles to the bathroom to wash up. By eight, he’s wide awake and figuring out what to wear. Training pants are the go-to, and he grabs a green baggy shirt to pull over his head. He almost forgets to comb his hair, so he skips to the bathroom mirror and does just that. Once satisfied with his appearance, he steps out and makes his way to the kitchen.

Breakfast is important. Sicheng doesn’t know what food Taeyong keeps, so he looks around for something suitable to eat. He opens the fridge, scans the shelves, and sees a compartment full of fruit. Apples are nice to have in the morning, so he takes out two and washes them, wiping them dry with a napkin and setting them on the counter.

Not sure how far the university is, Sicheng decides to wake Taeyong now. Knocking on the elder’s door and getting no answer, he peers in and whispers politely, “Excuse me.”

Taeyong’s room is in the same state as the rest of the apartment: tidy, impersonal, and aesthetically pleasing. A few posters are taped to the wall; Sicheng recognizes that some are famous dancers, while others are from animations. His desk is extremely organized, folders color-coded and labelled. His bed has a red and black style, the furniture all oak wood. His curtains, also red, are drawn tight and make the room nearly pitch black. There is a string of lights hung close to the ceiling, sparkling white, that reminds Sicheng’s of stars he’s never been able to see in the city.

Sicheng shuffles to the bed and crouches by Taeyong’s head. He pokes Taeyong’s cheek a few times until Taeyong cracks open an eye.

“What’s it?” Taeyong says hoarsely.

“Go,” Sicheng replies. He holds out his hand, palm up, and makes his index and middle finger of his other hand walk across it. Taeyong squints. “School. Go school.”

Sitting up, Taeyong runs a hand through his messy hair and nods. “Go school. Go _to_ school. Right, right.” He rubs his face, breathing in deeply. “Give me, like, ten minutes.”

While Taeyong gets ready, Sicheng sits in the living room and packs his backpack for his classes. He has three today, and he’s not sure what he needs to bring to them. He’s got a couple notebooks, just in case, and lots of pens. A translation book (provided by Kun) is there, too, but Sicheng is positive that won’t help him in his calculus class.

Taeyong comes to him, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is hidden under a red beanie, but little tufts of it stick out from the front. He’s very attractive, Sicheng observes offhandedly.

“You ready?”

Sicheng does a thumbs-up, and before they leave he takes the apples from the counter. He hands one to Taeyong, who smiles and thanks him.

The weather is great. Birds chirp in the trees, nesting for the end of summer. Sicheng stares at any and everything, intrigued at whatever crosses his path. Convenience stores, massage parlors, musicians busking... Taeyong makes sure he doesn’t get into any accidents, switching positions with Sicheng so he’s not on the side of the street.

After they’ve walked for a few minutes, Taeyong asks to see Sicheng’s schedule. Sicheng has it printed out, in a weekly format, and shows it to him.

“My schedule lines up with most of yours,” Taeyong says, reading over the courses. “We can meet after you’re done. I’ll call you. And then we can walk home.”

“Okay,” Sicheng says. He takes out his phone and gives it to Taeyong, who swiftly inputs himself as a contact. He’s disappointed all he can say is “okay,” but there isn’t much else he can do about that. More incentive to study Korean.

The university comes into view not long after, the buildings spread throughout the city blocks and main campus area. The grass is shockingly green, and Sicheng winces when he steps on a dandelion. Taeyong guides him to his first class, which is on the second floor of one of the main buildings, and tells him to call if he doesn’t know where to go. With fifteen minutes until nine, he leaves Sicheng alone for the first time since he’s come to Korea to get to his own class. Sicheng would be lying if he said he didn’t want Taeyong to go into class with him, but that’s childish to admit aloud and he’s sure Taeyong wouldn’t be comfortable. After a moment of mental preparation, Sicheng enters the room.

This is one of his dance courses, so the class is fashioned as a practice room. Full-size mirrors line the walls and the hardwood floor is polished. Sicheng checks the traction of his shoes. He’s known for falling, but the floor isn’t that slippery so he has little worries. There are a few people who turn to stare at him, and he bows as he meets their eyes. A fit woman walks toward him, long hair tied in a high ponytail, and Sicheng bows to her as well, assuming she’s the instructor.

“Hello,” he says, placing his backpack against the wall.

“Good morning! Are you Sicheng?” Her voice is husky and charming, makeup complimenting her eyes.

“Yes!” Sicheng answers. “But. My Korean isn’t...”

“That’s okay. Can you understand?” Sicheng nods. “Fantastic! I’m Ms. Kwon. There are a few students here right now, so you can try talking with them before class starts to get a good sense of where we are. It hasn’t been long since we started practicing, so there’s not much to cover.”

Sicheng barely walks two steps towards the other students before one of them is approaching him with an overly large grin that causes Sicheng to smile as well. The student, wearing a long tank top and shorts, has silver ring earrings and a chain necklace, high-fiving Sicheng prior to saying a word. He’s a shorter than Sicheng, but he has confidence.

“What’s up, newbie? I’m Nakamoto Yuta, junior, from Osaka. I’ve been in Korea for four years with the foreign exchange program. You’re Sicheng, right?”

“China,” Sicheng says, eyes wide, taken aback at the immediate friendliness.

“Nice, nice!” Yuta brings him closer to the mirrors, pointing to his reflection. “Let me get you caught up on what we’re doing now. It’s pretty easy!”

With Yuta’s guidance, Sicheng learns a good portion of the routine the class started last week. It’s mostly fancy footwork, urban-style, so it takes a while for Sicheng to process it, more comfortable with traditional dancing. Still, it’s a great help and Yuta is patient with him. When class actually starts, Sicheng is introduced and hears the other students’ introductions. He realizes that all kinds of people want to be performers, pixie-cut haired girls and chubby guys, and it makes him feel all fuzzy inside.

They do stretches as warm-ups. Ms. Kwon comments, impressed, on how flexible Sicheng is compared to the rest of them. (She says it whilst doing the splits, laid flat, so he’s not sure if she’s serious.) The lessons of the day are tiring, the repetition tedious, but Sicheng gets the hang of it and is proud to have the routine memorized by the end of class.

While everyone is packing up their things, Sicheng walks to Yuta and pats his shoulder. “Thank you,” he proclaims. “For all the help.”

“Of course, man! We foreigners have to stick together,” Yuta laughs, nudging Sicheng’s arm. They exchange numbers and walk out of the room together as Sicheng checks his schedule with a deep frown on his face.

“Do you need help finding your next class?” asks Yuta. Sicheng brightens, and Yuta laughs, casting an arm around Sicheng’s shoulders. He pinches Sicheng’s cheek, cooing, “Aw, aren’t you cute? Hyung will help you. Wait, am I older than you? I never got around to asking!”

“Nineteen,” Sicheng replies, pointing to himself.

“Sweet! Your Yuta hyung is twenty-one and counting. I try to look as young as possible, but I _like_ being twenty-one. Weird, right? I actually took a year off after high school. I traveled, and I found that Korea seemed like an awesome place to start university!”

Yuta talks a lot. That’s not hard to realize. Even though he’s Japanese, his words are as fast and fluid as someone born and raised in Korean. Multiple times, Sicheng has to ask him to slow down so he can understand. He tells Sicheng of his time in Seoul, his love for dancing, his interests in soccer. As he drops Sicheng off at his second class, calculus, Yuta invites Sicheng to hang out anytime to watch anime.

“I am a self-proclaimed anime expert,” are Yuta’s last words to him before letting Sicheng enter the classroom.

The professor is kind — middle-aged woman who wears khakis and a tucked-in polo. She tells him to stay after class for a few minutes to discuss the syllabus and notes, and he takes a seat towards the front as she starts lecture. Sicheng takes mediocre notes, mostly because Korean and numbers haven’t clicked yet, and expects to review the material in Chinese on his laptop when he gets to the apartment. Halfway through the lecture, he starts an audio recording to reference later.

Class ends, and students file out quickly. When the professor explains the syllabus to him, she emphasizes her office hours and to come whenever he has questions. She also wishes him the best of luck in Korea, and if he needs any extra language help she knows cheap tutors.

Sicheng’s next class is art history. He’s not sure he can find it on his own, but he has enough spirit to try. If he’s learned anything from his life in China, it’s that one must advance on their own before asking for help. In Korea, he’s positive the same mantra applies.

(He’s only late by three minutes, and the green-haired teacher lets him slide, just this once.)

——

Taeyong is waiting atop the stone wall, outside the main campus, kicking his legs and staring at the clouds. His feet are at Sicheng’s eye level, so Sicheng tugs on Taeyong’s shoelaces to get his attention. It startles Taeyong, but he doesn’t accidentally kick Sicheng in the face, which is good.

“Oh, hey.” Taeyong jumps down and lands lightly on his feet. He takes out two items from his bag that are covered in plastic, triangular, with rice wrapped in seaweed inside of it. Sicheng stares, curious, having no clue what they are.

“I got us lunch. It’s the taste of convenience store Korea,” he says, handing Sicheng one. “I hope you like ham.”

As they start walking back home, it becomes clear to Sicheng that he has no idea how to open... whatever the food is. He looks desperately at Taeyong, chewing on his food with the wrapper neatly peeled back, and whimpers.

Taeyong turns to him, and soon there’s a hasty apology followed by, “Here, I’ll open it for you.” He does witchcraft undoing the packaging, seriously, the plastic peeling away perfectly, and then hands it back to Sicheng, who licks his lips in anticipation.

The first bite is delicious, not overly salty or bitter. There are veggies and ham as filling, plus a swatch of mayonnaise. Sicheng could eat this forever.

“Good?” asks Taeyong, and Sicheng nods fervently. “It’s called _kimbap_. It’s where you have various toppings stuffed in rice and then wrapped together with seaweed. This is triangle kimbap, because of the shape.”

“Kimbap,” repeats Sicheng, mouth full from chewing. Korean words for food should be on the top of his priority list while learning Korean, he concludes.

“So... how were classes?”

“Hard,” Sicheng admits gloomily. “Too much... Korean talk.”

Taeyong laughs heartily, his whole body shaking, and Sicheng grins. This is the first time Taeyong has laughed in front of him, and he sounds so lovely. The happy crinkles by his eyes are much better than that grumpy expression he’s stuck with all day.

“Can’t get past that in the heart of Seoul, I’m afraid.” Taeyong finishes the rest of his kimbap, tossing the plastic in a nearby trash bin. “Uh, anything good happen?”

Sicheng immediately recalls his first class and is eager to speak, “I met this really cool dude in my contemporary dance class! He has these cool piercings, like rings on his ears. He’s shorter than me and foreign, but he’s _so much_ better at Korean because he’s been here for _four years_ and—” He stops when he realizes he’s said the whole thing in Mandarin, Taeyong pursing his lips in confusion. His shoulders slump.

“You can’t understand me,” Sicheng sighs, in Mandarin, under his breath. He eats the rest of his kimbap, but he’s still bummed.

Taeyong, probably figuring out Sicheng’s dilemma, nods. “I’m a one language guy. Sorry.”

Sicheng tries again, this time waving his hands around and talking in Korean. “Japanese person.” A good start. “Yuta. His name.” Details, yes. “Dance class. Morning. Cool.” Sicheng is better at charades, without a doubt. He scratches his chin and finishes, “Better Korean. Four years.”

“Alright,” Taeyong says. “Let’s see if I can piece this together...

“A Japanese foreign exchange student — Yuta — has lived in Korea for four years. He’s in your dance class and has better Korean than you. Plus... he’s cool.”

Sicheng claps excitedly. “Right! Yes!”

“That’s nice to hear,” Taeyong says. “I’ve heard about him.”

They get to the apartment and ride the elevator in silence. Sicheng leans back against the wall, and Taeyong gives him a small smile.

“Look, Sicheng,” he starts, when the elevator doors open. “I’m sorry if I come off cold sometimes. I’m used to doing my work solo — by myself. I’m not a great people person either.” He presses the code into the keypad and holds open the door for Sicheng. “Not being able to talk fluently with one another also sucks.”

“Yeah,” Sicheng agrees. He’s getting by with context clues and less than educated guesses. As much as he’s frustrated with not being able to express himself, Taeyong must be having just as hard of a time deciphering him. And, since Taeyong normally does his work alone, he’s definitely not used to hanging around Sicheng.

“Just know I’m trying my best,” Taeyong declares, almost shy, looking earnestly at Sicheng. He ducks his head. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me. Knock.”

“Okay,” says Sicheng. “Thank you, hyung.” Taeyong gives him another smile and goes to his bedroom.

Sicheng throws his backpack on the couch and puts his hands on his hips. He could either start his homework or go over old material. Sitting at his desk would be the most productive, but Sicheng wants to have the TV playing, too, as background noise. He sets up his laptop on the table in front of the couch, turns on the TV, and hops on the couch cushions. He finds a channel that has a music show on, with dancing girl groups and boy groups, catchy pop songs with extravagant stages. He likes the music, so he keeps it on.

Taeyong had connected him to the wi-fi yesterday, so Sicheng has no trouble logging onto the school’s website. He’s put hangul stickers next to his pinyin ones on his keyboard, so he stares at them as he’s typing. Online, there are last week’s lecture notes for his calculus class and the PowerPoint presentations from art history. He saves them and, after taking out his notebooks and pencil, gets to work.

Everything is in Korean, which is Sicheng’s first hurdle to jump. He can read it, sounding the characters out loud, but that doesn’t mean he knows what it means. Half the time he’s searching the Chinese equivalent to words, which only make sense when he puts the phrases in the search bar one at a time. The second hurdle is understanding the information, because that’s difficult no matter what language he’s using. All the calculus videos he watches are lengthy and confusing, but he tries to make his notes as legible and coherent as possible. For art history, it’s just a lot of reading. Luckily, he finds Chinese versions of Korean articles, which lifts some of the burden off him.

The only assignment Sicheng can’t really do is for his dance class. He can work on some memorization, since there’s a video of the full routine on the class webpage, but he needs mirrors to check his form. While he’s watching Chinese calculus lectures he inadvertently murmurs the steps for what he’s learned of the dance under his breath, the beats of the arm movements and leg twists. It’s multitasking, but he ends up focusing too much on the dance and has to stand up and practice it sloppily to get it out of his head.

Sicheng feels satisfied with his work by six o’clock. He’s reviewed all the class material he’s missed, done all the homework assigned to him. What’s left is for tomorrow, when he has two other dance classes he needs to get acquainted with. Sicheng is proud of himself for getting through his first day of university in Korea. He sends a picture of his filled notebooks to Kun, captioned, “ _I did it, ge~_ ” with plenty of hearts and exclamation points.

 **from: kun-ge (6:09 p.m.)** **  
** _I knew you could!! Keep it up!!!!_

Sicheng smiles. He really appreciates all that Kun does for him. Once he’s settled down in Seoul, Sicheng will send Kun a postcard.

The growling noise that comes from Sicheng’s stomach alerts him of his need for sustenance. He’s studied so hard the last few hours, but all he’s had aside from the kimbap was a bottle of water and a bag of chips. After all he’s accomplished, Sicheng thinks he deserves some real food. Taeyong, hopefully, can help with that.

Remembering to knock, Sicheng stands in front of the bedroom door and calls, “Taeyong hyung.”

The door opens after a few seconds, Taeyong rubbing his eyes. His hair is fluffy, sticking out at odd ends, which means he must’ve had a nap and didn’t bother to fix it. “Yeah?” he answers. “What d’you need?”

Sicheng pats his stomach. “Hungry.” It makes a gurgling noise, and he grimaces. “Very.”

Taeyong musters a grin. “Hungry, huh? I guess it’s time for dinner,” he says. “Do you want takeout?”

Sicheng shakes his head. He’s not sure what Korean takeout entails, but he’s not feeling up for a long wait.

“Well...” Taeyong scratches his neck. “Do— Do you want me to cook?”

“Oh! Yes!” Sicheng exclaims. What better way to get used to a new country than to have a home-cooked meal?

“Dinner by Lee Taeyong it is,” declares Taeyong. He goes to the kitchen, Sicheng at his heels, and plucks an apron hanging from the pantry. He wears it and ties the strings behind him, rolling up his sleeves as Sicheng settles at the kitchen table.

“I don’t mean to brag, but I am an excellent cook,” Taeyong says, opening up the fridge.

“What’s that called?” Sicheng asks, folding his arms over the table and laying his chin on them. “In Korean.”

“This?” Taeyong grips the handle of the fridge, and Sicheng nods. He tells Sicheng the word, lets Sicheng repeat it a few times, and then gets an idea. “Let’s... do some learning while we’re at it. Is that fine with you?”

“Fine with me,” Sicheng says, smiling.

As Taeyong starts cooking, he says the word of every object and ingredient he uses. Spatula, beef, onion, whisk, carrots, knife, etc. He doesn’t say them only once, but every time he picks up the item, hoping the repetition makes Sicheng learn better. He hasn’t told Sicheng what he’s making, but every few minutes he walks to the table and feeds Sicheng a spoonful.

Sicheng tries brothy soup at one tasting, rice and eggs during the next. He’s thoroughly anticipating the final products, more invested in the way Taeyong spreads cooking oil into the pan than his growling stomach. He’s never watched anyone cook so skillfully firsthand before, and it’s fascinating. Taeyong is like an artist in his studio, the spices and sauces as his paints and pencils.

When Taeyong gets close to finishing, Sicheng sets up the table. He puts out bowls, plates, chopsticks, and spoons. Taeyong puts the dishes onto the table, explaining each one: fried rice with eggs and vegetables, tofu and kimchi soup, braised beef and peppers, and stir-fried noodles with bean sprouts. It’s like a feast for a king, and Sicheng gapes at the beauty of the arrangement as Taeyong sits across from him.

“Eat up,” he urges, pushing the dishes closer to Sicheng’s side.

Sicheng giddily starts to pile food on his plate. “Thank you, Taeyong hyung!” He takes a spoonful of fried rice and pops it into his mouth, eyes widening in alarm. “ _Mm!_ ”

“You like it?”

 _Like_ is a crude understatement. It’s nothing like anything Sicheng has ever tasted! It’s savory, fragrant, and unimaginably delicious, vegetables cooked to perfection and rice crispy. The soup is delicious, too, and Sicheng has to restrain himself from picking up the bowl and slurping the whole thing down in one gulp. He fervently nods, giving Taeyong the widest of grins.

Relieved, Taeyong wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead. “Thank God. I don’t know what’d I do if someone said they _didn’t_ like my cooking.” He stares at Sicheng, inhaling the food, and proclaims, “Don’t get too attached to it. Cooking dinner for two wears me out, and weekly groceries really bite into my wallet.” At Sicheng’s perplexed expression he simplifies, “I get tired. Ingredients cost too much money.”

“Ah,” Sicheng says. That’s disappointing, but he knows he shouldn’t bother Taeyong like that. He’ll enjoy it while he can. Lifting his spoon to his lips, Sicheng concentrates hard as he tries to remember the right words to say. “Still good,” he declares firmly, and Taeyong holds his face, embarrassed at the praise. He’s cute.

Sicheng can get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“target” by romeo](https://youtu.be/YC0-c0iW4WA) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	3. our secret story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello, my beautiful people,” sings Johnny, getting amiable hellos in response. He goes through the pantry and procures a family-sized bag of barbecue-flavored Lays. He hugs it to his chest and leans on the island. “You two are getting along well.”

Sicheng comes with Taeyong to the NCT headquarters on Saturday. He’s wanted to see what it looks like, who some of the workers are, and after Taeyong had gotten the O.K. from his boss Sicheng tagged along for the ride. Taeyong tells him they’ll be there almost all day with not much to do, but Sicheng promises he won’t get bored. When in doubt, Sicheng can make his own fun. Like trying to see how long he can do a handstand — current record: thirty-four seconds.

The building is nothing fancy. It’s off the highway and down a rural road, away from the liveliness of the city. From the outside, Sicheng can only see one floor, clear windows showing workers seated at cubicles, and a red entrance. A lackluster sign with the words _Network for Cultural Travel_ is plastered above the door. Sicheng, in all honesty, anticipated something more... exciting. Taeyong opens the door and they go inside.

Sicheng is self-conscious about his clothes because he’s dressed completely casual. Taeyong has gym shorts and a sweatshirt, having told Sicheng an outfit like this was fine, but the workers are all suited in ironed dress shirts or pencil skirts, _business_ -casual. The two of them look like a couple of college kids wanting to slack off, when in reality Taeyong works here, too.

 _But where does he fit in?_ Sicheng wonders, frowning at a plastic plant in the corner of the room. _Surely not at a desk..._

A woman at the reception greets them, taking her eyes off her computer monitor, “Welcome! How can I help you today?” Her name is Joohyun, according to the plaque on the counter. She smiles at Taeyong. “I see you’ve brought a guest, Taeyong.”

“This is Dong Sicheng, Joohyun noona,” Taeyong introduces, and Sicheng waves. “Can you give him a pass?”

“Of course I can! Hi, sweetie. Feel free to call me noona, too,” she tells Sicheng. She clicks an application on her computer and then turns to Taeyong. “How long is he staying?”

“As long as I am.”

Joohyun’s eyebrows raise, and she types on her keyboard. “I wasn’t aware it was Bring Your Transport to Work Day,” she says teasingly.

Taeyong laughs dryly. “You’re hilarious.”

Joohyun prints off a paper and folds it. She grabs a lanyard with a card protector from under her desk and slips it into the holder. “Wear this. Don’t take it off,” she says, handing it to Sicheng, who pulls it over his head. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“What, will you guide us if I say no?” Taeyong asks, and Joohyun scoffs. “Thought so. Thanks, noona.”

“Anytime.”

Taeyong starts walking past the reception, Sicheng following close behind. The more Sicheng sees the more confused he is. The whole building is a normal office space, emphasis on _normal_ , and it’s throwing him off. What kind of agent works in an office? Does James Bond ever file tax returns? Has Phil Coulson replaced the ink and toner in the printer? Taeyong is cooler than that — no offense to the average office worker.

“Hyung,” Sicheng whispers in Taeyong’s ear, tugging on the elder’s sleeve. “Why is it... like this?”

“The office?” Taeyong asks, and Sicheng, afraid the lady clicking away in high heels will hear him as she passes, just nods. “Well, this is the headquarters’ cover. Like, a disguise. Everyone who works at the travel business division knows about the _actual_ NCT. It’s a joint effort that also provides money for our work down below.”

“Oh. Oooh.”

Taeyong rounds a corner and unlocks a white door that leads to a narrow staircase spiraling down, small lantern lights hooked on the walls. (Now _that’s_ what Sicheng’s talking about. Mysterious.) Taeyong lets Sicheng go first, who doesn’t really want to but can’t argue. The metal steps creak, and Sicheng can feel Taeyong hold a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“NCT is a secret agency and not for the public eye. The more people who know about us, the more danger we put ourselves and the innocent lives we protect in.” Taeyong’s voice echoes as they go deeper, even when he’s talking hushedly.

They reach another door after another minute, this time heavy metal, that Sicheng struggles to open. Taeyong helps him with it, and when they pass through he says, “What’s really here — we like to keep it to ourselves.”

What Sicheng sees is far more exciting than cubicles. The whole area is the size of a stadium, with a ceiling tens of meters high. There is a labyrinth of hallways, walls twice Sicheng’s height, leading to rooms of all sizes, colors, and kinds. One is painted green, and the window shows a large pool, rectangular, cyan waters rippling. Another room, smaller, is light blue and has the a wooden sign with the words _J.Suh_ etched into it on the door — Johnny’s room, according to Taeyong. Above, there is a flying drone that buzzes and buzzes as it glides in the air, flashing red. There are two women, dressed in training gear, walking around the halls, who greet Taeyong as they discuss the “automatic initiative.”

Sicheng gapes, slack-jawed, and marvels, “Wow.” Taeyong laughs at the reaction.

The room that Taeyong brings them to is one of the bigger ones, the outside covered with posters of cartoon characters, artistic signboards, and flyer reminders. (The one that sticks out most to Sicheng has the phrase, “ _Stop putting sparkling water into the communal fridge_ ” in glittery pink pen.) Pushing open the double doors, the inside is much like a dance practice room, with the sleek floorboards and ceiling high mirrors. However, there are thick blue mats on the ground, a rack of dumbbells, various weapons hung on the walls, and punch dummies and bags at the corners of the room.

“This is the main training room,” Taeyong says, walking to the center. “I stay in here mostly, when I don’t have to do paperwork.” Sicheng blinks. “The not so glamorous side of agent living, I know. Training is a thousand times more thrilling.”

Sicheng lifts his arms, flexing. “Exercise?”

Taeyong colors pink, for some unknown reason, and he replies, “Sort of.” He stretches and Sicheng follows. “I keep fit. Practice my hand-to-hand combat, agility, shooting. Typical agent stuff.”

“Cool,” Sicheng says, dropping his arms to his sides. “I can watch?” Taeyong nods, and Sicheng plops on the mat as Taeyong grabs some weights.

The next few hours go by eventlessly. Sicheng does a lot of stretching, practices some dance routines, while Taeyong trains. The agent hits the dummies, kicks at the target points, swings around kendo rods — he even lets Sicheng try to spar with him. Sicheng ends up pinned on the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs, with a snickering Taeyong above him and ruffling his hair. It was... a close match. Taeyong is too strong for the normal human to face, okay. Sicheng is _technically_ a normal human.

When Sicheng slips and falls flat on the mat, the result of a failed windmill, Taeyong decides to put away his punches and help him. Taeyong, also a dance major, patiently guides Sicheng through the steps of street dance. He’s fluid in his movements, like the water flowing in a stream, never wavering. Sicheng tries not to stare, even though Taeyong is literally a sight to behold.

They work up a sweat and an appetite, so Taeyong takes them out of the training room and a few hallways over to the kitchen. It’s three times the size of the one at the apartment, with a large marble island and an electric stovetop. There’s a microwave, toaster, and coffeemaker on the counter. The stainless steel fridge has four different compartments, which amazes Sicheng who hadn’t known there needed to be four different storage temperatures. Sicheng sits on a stool at the island as Taeyong rummages through the cupboards, taking out a large pot and two packages of ramen.

Taeyong puts a lot of extra ingredients in instant ramen: sliced tofu, soft-boiled eggs, and bok choy to name a few. He serves them in bowls, and Sicheng can tell just by the smell that it’ll be delicious. As he takes his first bite, he’s not disappointed.

The appearance of a familiar tall figure causes Sicheng to make a surprised noise, setting down his chopsticks and pointing to the door.

“Hello, my beautiful people,” sings Johnny, getting amiable _hello_ s in response. He goes through the pantry and procures a family-sized bag of BBQ-flavored Lays. He hugs it to his chest and leans on the island. “You two are getting along well.”

“Sicheng is really nice, lively. Kinda quiet, but I think it’s because he can’t speak Korean,” Taeyong proclaims.

“Yeah,” Sicheng agrees. He coughs, motions for a cup, and Taeyong gets up right away, making his way to the fridge.

“A drink? Any preferences? I’ll get you cola.”

Johnny draws out a long “ _ah_ ” sound as he crunches on a potato chip. “I see. You _baby_ him,” he says wryly. “Even with the language barrier, Mother Taeyong cannot be deterred.”

Taeyong hits him with the cola before giving it to Sicheng. “Shut up,” he grumbles, taking his seat. Sicheng nudges him and grins, as a thank you, which seems to lighten his mood.

Johnny asks, “How’s it going with the minimal communication anyway? Any episodes?”

“We use lots of hand gestures and translation apps,” Taeyong says. “Sicheng’s pretty quick to catch on. He’s learning Korean from Youtube videos and me.”

“Drama!” exclaims Sicheng.

“Oh, and by watching dramas with Chinese subtitles.” Johnny stares at Taeyong, eyebrow quirked. “His suggestion, not mine. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Those are just my eyes, Taeyong.”

Taeyong wrinkles his nose. “If you’re gonna be like this, I’m kicking you out of the kitchen,” he barks.

Johnny slides onto a stool, stuffing another handful of chips in his mouth. “Sicheng wants me here,” he remarks, and Sicheng chuckles. “See? Also, I’m hungry and this is a public space. Fight me.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes and stirs his ramen. “Not worth my time.”

“If you can’t tell from our loving interactions, Taeyong is my best friend. I’ve known him since I moved to Korea,” Johnny tells Sicheng, who listens intently. He leans in, covering his mouth, and stage-whispers, “I know all his embarrassing secrets. Ask and I’ll reveal them.”

“I will murder you,” Taeyong threatens, but Johnny just smiles.

“That is against NCT’s code of conduct,” Johnny says, with an air of nonchalance. “Don’t kill your friends, Sicheng. You will get fired.”

“Don’t kill your friends,” reiterates Sicheng. “Got it.” Taeyong openly grimaces.

Johnny stays and chats until they finish their ramen. Then, Taeyong is taking the dishes and hand washing them. Sicheng listens to Johnny tell stories from when he was in America, back in high school, and realizes something.

“Hyung,” he says, and Johnny stops telling the tale of how his school went on lockdown for a trespassing deer. “You... No school, right now. How come?”

“You’re perceptive, Sicheng. Taeyong thought I graduated college years ago,” Johnny laughs.

Taeyong mutters, “How was _I_ supposed to know? You look old.”

“I’m on a break from classes right now. NCT makes me travel so much, so I can’t sit down and get my degree just yet. One day.” Johnny hums. “I’m doing some online courses. Off to the side.”

“Oh.” Sicheng nods. “Fun.”

“Accounting. Definitely the rainbow ball pit of the business world,” Johnny jokes. “I like numbers and cost parametrics. It’d help NCT out to have a guy that knows about money.”

“Nerd,” coughs Taeyong.

“I am your _superior_ , Lee Taeyong,” Johnny bellows. He waves around a chip, shaking his head. “How dare you.”

Sicheng glances at Taeyong, who sighs, and repeats seriously, “Nerd.” Taeyong grins and Johnny jumps back, appalled, while Sicheng falls into a fit of laughter.

——

Early Friday night, when Sicheng is about to start an animated movie on the TV with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, a loud pounding on the door startles him off the couch. He catches the bowl before it can go flying, which makes him breathe a sigh of relief. Taeyong doesn’t like when there are spills, and since Sicheng can’t clean as well as him he’d rather not make a mess at all. Especially a buttery, kernel-infested one that’ll attract all kinds of pests.

Normally Taeyong answers the door. Visitors who come by are typically delivery men who drop off food or packages, and Sicheng’s Korean is too stilted to adapt to those types of interactions. Taeyong handles them, handing off money or signing for boxes, while Sicheng peers a few feet behind and watches, fascinated. Taeyong tells him that that’s “hovering” and Sicheng shouldn’t do it too much. It “weirds people out,” though he was sure to clarify he’s personally okay with it.

Right now, however, Taeyong is in the middle of a nap. He’d felt exhausted after walking home from classes, and Sicheng gingerly turned the lights and the TV volume down low as Taeyong went to his room to sleep. Sicheng isn’t about to rouse him just to answer the door, so he takes initiative and decides to do it himself.

Sicheng isn’t in the most appealing of outfits, wearing the duck-patterned pajamas Taeyong had bought him a few days ago when he noticed Sicheng’s limited options for sleepwear. He feels comfortable, though, all soft and cozy. After he gets up from the couch he stands in front of the door, quietly reiterating to himself how to greet properly.

He pulls back the handle and sees three people, talking amongst themselves but going silent when seeing Sicheng. The unexpectedly high number of humans makes Sicheng’s voice wobble as he says, “Hello.”

“Hello,” responds one human, brunet, overly large hoodie covering his hands. He looks troubled. “We— We, um, are we at the right place? Excuse us.”

The one with straightened blond hair snorts into his fist. He’s holding an ice coffee from Starbucks. “Nicely said, Mr. Eloquent.” The brunet punches him, but he doesn’t seem affected.

Sicheng is more than confused, because there are three people and he doesn’t know what the reason for their visit is. He leans against the doorframe and blinks. “Why?” he says, hoping the _are you here_ is implied.

The orange-haired, neon jacket wearing guy explains, “Our close friend Taeyong lives alone and doesn’t let us visit often, so we might have the wrong apartment number. He hasn’t talked to us lately and we were getting worried.” He clasps his hands together. “Have you seen a guy around with unreasonably long, black hair and eyes that look like they shoot lasers?”

Sicheng struggles figuring out everything he’d said because it was quick and more complicated than what he’s used to hearing. He understands the last part, mostly, and nods, pointing to Taeyong’s room. “There.”

The three visitors exchange confused looks, like that hadn’t been the answer they were expecting. They whisper to each other hastily, and the orange one elbows the blond one in the side. The blond one must have it hard, Sicheng thinks to himself.

“So Taeyong lives... here?” asks the brunet.

“With you?” the blond adds.

Sicheng nods again. Maybe they didn’t understand him the first time. “Yes,” he confirms. He puts his hands on his chest. “With me.”

Since they’ve said they’re Taeyong’s friends, and Sicheng has no reason to doubt them, Sicheng pulls back the door to let them in. (Later, Taeyong stresses “ _stranger danger_ ” and pleads with him never to do this again.) The orange one looks the most skeptical but is the first to walk in, followed by the brunet and then the blond. As they pass by, Sicheng can hear them muttering frantically to one another.

The orange one has no concept of filtering.

“He could be Taeyong hyung’s butler. Butlers are all enigmatic and foreign, and this guy can barely speak a lick of Korean.” He glances back at Sicheng, quick enough to appear inconspicuous but not quick enough for Sicheng to ignore it. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“Would it kill you not to be rude for, like, one second?” sighs the blond one, pushing at the other’s head. Sicheng likes this one.

“I am Dong Sicheng,” he introduces, and the trio blinks at him. He offers a small smile and lets them sit on the couch, because that’s what a good host does. “I am Chinese,” he adds, sitting on the opposite couch and tucking his feet under him.

Introductions follow shortly. The orange one, blond one, and brunet one are Doyoung, Jaehyun, and Taeil respectively. Apparently, they’ve been friends with Taeyong for years — Doyoung since freshman year of uni, Jaehyun and Taeil since high school. Doyoung and Taeil are vocal majors while Jaehyun is also a minor in public communications. They don’t have any idea Taeyong is an agent, however, which Sicheng remembers not to mention. The three of them regard Sicheng with caution, and before Sicheng can start the movie Doyoung coughs.

“Sorry to be frank,” he begins, leaning forward, “but what are you to Taeyong? He doesn’t have a lot of social connections. Anybody he knows we know, and we don’t know you.”

“Taeyong hyung is...” Sicheng purses his lips. What a time for his Korean to fail him. He hums, and then he sees Taeyong coming out of his room, shirt inside-out, rubbing his eyes. Taeyong yawns, fluffs his hair, and when he locks gazes with Sicheng remembers the word.

“Boyfriend.”

“WHAT,” four voices yell, and okay, maybe that _wasn’t_ it.

Jaehyun whips his head to Taeyong and narrows his eyes. “Why are _you_ saying what?”

“Are you doing here,” Taeyong answers swiftly. He gulps. “What. What are you doing here? Yeah.”

“Saved it,” Taeil murmurs.

“We’re checking if you were dead,” Jaehyun says, and then backtracks. “No, sorry, checking if you were alive. Big difference.”

“I’m a zombie. Trick question.” Sicheng laughs at the joke, because he’s learned that word yesterday after watching _Train to Busan_ , and Taeyong puffs his chest out, proud. His friends aren’t impressed with him, on the contrary, faces stoic.

“Taeyong,” Taeil says, tone serious. He points back and forth between Taeyong and Sicheng. “What is this?”

“That—” Taeyong points to Sicheng, who takes it as his cue to wave, “—is Sicheng.” He sits next to him, grabbing a pillow to put in his lap. “He’s a foreign exchange student from China.”

“Hello,” Sicheng says. Taeil waves to him.

Jaehyun raises his hand, like a student asking a question in class, and proclaims, “Back to the issue presented—”

“ _Boyfriend!?_ ” Doyoung shrieks abruptly. (At this point, Sicheng is sure his only noise setting is Loud.) “Taeyong, you don’t have the best history with people. Like, you barely even like _us_ , and we’re your _friends_. For you to be in a relationship with _anyone_ is boggling my mind right now.”

“It might be the language gap,” Jaehyun says. “Maybe Sicheng just meant to say he’s a friend who’s a guy.” Taeil looks like he’s about to agree with that theory, but Taeyong’s sudden confession makes the room go silent.

“No, we’re dating. Together. Boyfriend and boyfriend.” Taeyong looks at Sicheng, who’s blinking cluelessly, and sets his hand around the younger male’s shoulders. (He’s very cold, Sicheng notes.) “Yeah. Dating.”

“Holy shit,” Jaehyun gasps. Taeil covers his mouth with his hands, scandalized.

“How long?” asks Doyoung, expression a mixture between offended and giddy.

“About— About a month,” Taeyong declares, glancing again at Sicheng. Sicheng nods. Although he’s not fully aware of the situation, he’s confident Taeyong is handling it well.

Doyoung bawks, “And you’re already _living together_?”

“He needed a place to stay,” defends Taeyong, ears reddening. Sicheng resists the urge to poke them, because this sounds like a very intense discussion that would not benefit from ear-poking.

“Are you taking advantage of him because of the language barrier? I can see that happening,” Taeil says. “Sicheng, blink twice if he’s holding you captive.” Sicheng blinks four times. Taeil doesn’t know what to make of that.

“No! Jesus Christ, I would never do something so inhumane.” Taeyong’s arm tenses where it rests on Sicheng’s shoulder, so Sicheng pats his hand reassuringly. Taeyong sighs. “Are you guys gonna leave now? You’re killing my vibe.”

Jaehyun cocks his head. “What? Hell no! We haven’t seen you in ages, and Sicheng seems cool. He’s probably a better conversator than you.”

“He can barely speak Korean,” Taeyong says.

“So? Translate for us,” counters Doyoung.

“I can’t speak Mandarin.”

Taeil frowns. “How do you guys talk?” Both Taeyong and Sicheng shrug, and Taeil’s bewilderment increases exponentially. “Okay. I... Okay.”

“I can speak,” Sicheng declares. He pinches his fingers together and squints. “Only a little. Better listening.”

“Makes sense,” Doyoung remarks. He looks at the TV, the screen paused. “What’re you watching? We interrupted.”

Sicheng brightens as he plays the movie. “ _Finding Nemo_ ,” he answers, sounding out all the syllables, checking with Taeyong and beaming when he’s correct.

“Oh, there are subtitles on,” comments Jaehyun, referring to the yellow Chinese characters at the bottom of the screen.

“Learning!” Sicheng exclaims.

They watch the movie, talking in between scenes. Sicheng has already watched it, so he doesn’t worry about missing the storyline. Talking with Taeyong’s friends is fun, albeit one-sided. They ask a lot of questions about China and his life there, Sicheng responding to the best of his abilities and Taeyong attempting to fill the gaps. Taeyong is either acutely aware of Sicheng’s life from his file or he’s extremely skilled in figuring out what Sicheng wants to say. Whichever it is, Sicheng appreciates the effort.

Taeil stands. “I’m raiding your fridge,” he announces, heading to the kitchen.

In the time since he’s sat down, Taeyong’s position has changed three times. Right now, he has the most comfort leaning against Sicheng’s arm, hands tucked between his thighs. Sicheng absentmindedly rubs Taeyong’s knee as he reads the subtitles under his breath.

“Don’t touch the ice cream. It’s Sicheng’s,” Taeyong declares, voice low. “Anything else is fair game.”

Taeil stops, hand paused on the freezer door handle. “Whoa.” He rubs his arm, shuddering. “I got chills. That was so possessive.”

Taeyong makes a point to have his eyes rolled until Taeil comes back with a bowl of whole grain cereal.

When the end credits roll Taeyong gets up and throws a pillow at the other couch. It hits Jaehyun, ricochets off his face, and then falls promptly onto Doyoung’s lap. Taeil raises his arms high and says, “Goal,” with the most unenthusiastic voice and expression ever. (He would be a terrible cheerleader, if that counts for anything.)

“Leave,” Taeyong demands.

“What? We just got here!” whines Doyoung, crushing the pillow.

Taeyong scowls. “Untrue. Don’t lie to my face.”

“There is a lot of bad energy in the air,” Taeil proclaims calmly. “Chill, Taeyong. It’s not like we’re robbing you.” Jaehyun snorts.

“At least let us have dinner,” Doyoung says, pouting.  “We’ll order takeout!”

Huffing, Taeyong shakes his head and says, “Seriously? Absolutely—” Sicheng holds onto his sleeve, making these wide puppy-dog eyes, which make him falter and lose his words. Taeyong thins his lips, sighing, and hangs his head. “ _Fine_.”

Jaehyun, Taeil, and Doyoung cheer loudly, high-fiving one another and reaching across to high-five a confused Sicheng.

“I want black bean noodles!” says Jaehyun.

“Fried chicken!” adds Doyoung.

“I want you all to leave,” grumbles Taeyong. Sicheng pats his head consolingly.

“Whipped,” Taeil mutters, and Taeyong holds up another pillow threateningly. “Whipped cream, yes, goes great with strawberry shortcake. That’s totally what I meant. Lee Taeyong, this is a safe space, put the cushion _down_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“crush on you” by the legend](https://youtu.be/wT5k0C7Nngg) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p) / fun fact: 운동 (un-dong) means exercise and 엉덩 (ung-dung) means butt/hip


	4. teach me 1 to 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So we might’ve done a bad thing,” Taeyong declares softly.

At NCT headquarters, Johnny’s room is basically an office for a five-year-old. He has a large desk in the center with a two-monitor computer covered in Pusheen stickers, a Newton’s cradle next to his pencil cup, oddly scented candles, and a macaroni-craft frame of what’s assumedly his family at his high school graduation. The bean bag chairs are off to the side for whenever visitors enter. There’s a knee-high filing cabinet at the corner of the room, atop it a stuffed corn and a stuffed broccoli plushie. Beside it is a treasure chest — yes, treasure chest — filled with toys. Last week, when Sicheng had visited, they’d played a riveting game of Jenga for a whole hour.

After last night’s events, when it was just them in the apartment, Taeyong had elaborated to Sicheng what exactly he’d done. Lied, big time, about being Sicheng’s boyfriend. Sicheng understands that it had been a spur of the moment action, not only as a clean-up of Sicheng’s slip of the tongue but also to protect Sicheng’s identity. Taeyong is still apologetic, however, and had guiltily professed he had to tell someone at NCT in case there was a “conflict of interest” from how Taeyong presented the information.

Taeyong sure as hell wasn’t going to give this news to his boss, so he’s come to the next best thing: Johnny Suh, longtime agent and protocol expert extraordinaire.

The two stand outside the Chicagoan agent’s door Saturday afternoon. Sicheng knocks and gets a resounding, “It’s open!” as a response. Taeyong doesn’t look eager to go in, so Sicheng is the one to push the door.

Johnny is spinning in his swivel chair, tossing a baseball in the air, looking terribly unproductive. Sicheng grabs the bean bag chairs and puts them in front of the desk, dropping onto the purple one. Taeyong remains rooted outside, clutching the frame of the door and tracing the patterns in the wood, reminding Sicheng of a sulking dog after getting scolded for licking fallen spaghetti sauce off the floor. Johnny stares at the other agent, frowning.

“So we might’ve done a bad thing,” Taeyong declares softly.

“Will you come in?” asks Johnny.

Taeyong shrugs. Sicheng gets up and tugs on his arm to bring him in the room, plopping him onto a bean bag. Johnny, slightly amused, puts down the baseball and rests his hand on his cheek.

“What did you say just now, TY? I couldn’t actually hear your mumbling.”

“Bad thing. We might’ve done a bad thing,” Taeyong repeats, only marginally less soft so Johnny can hear him. Johnny’s expression grows tired.

“Hi, Johnny. What’s new with you, Johnny? We won’t come to you with bad news, Johnny. Let’s go out for waffles, Johnny.” Johnny crosses his arms over his chest. “Why do you make my life hard?”

“That’s half my job,” Taeyong says, feigning aloofness. Sicheng pokes his arm, urging him to explain, and he bites his lip. “Actually, instead of a bad thing — we did a Bad Thing.”

Johnny, sensing the sudden capitalization of Taeyong’s dilemma, nods in understanding. He hasn’t seen Taeyong this stressed in a while, so he tries to take it more seriously. “Lay it on me. What’d you do?”

Sicheng says, “Boyfriend.” He gets up and snatches the corn plushie to hug and settles back down. He plays with its ears, entertained at the green flaps. “Yeah, boyfriend.”

“I... need more context than that.”

“ _Okay_.” Taeyong sinks further into the bean bag. “So my quote-unquote friends came to visit yesterday,” he starts petulantly, Sicheng nodding along. “Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Taeil. The usual crew.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting quotes around our quote-unquote _friends_ , but I’ll let that slide. Go on.”

“I am not the most sociable person,” Taeyong huffs. Johnny’s subsequent snort is uncalled for, but he continues, “I wasn’t awake to answer the door, so Sicheng did it. Next time, I told him, he should let _me_ do it no matter what. There’s a lot of dangerous people out— Anyway, back on topic. They saw Sicheng, got mad confused, and started assuming things. Ridiculous things.”

“That’s never a good sign.”

“Yeah! Yeah. So Sicheng—” Taeyong runs a hand through his hair. “Sicheng’s Korean is bad, right? Fact of the matter. Right. I wasn’t there to talk for him, so when they asked him who he was, Sicheng said—”

“Boyfriend,” interjects Sicheng. He scratches his nose and squishes the corn. “Accident.”

While Taeyong becomes one with the bean bag, Johnny claps his hands together and drawls, “ _Oh_. I get it.” He picks up the baseball and shrugs. “So what? You must’ve cleared the misunderstanding.”

Taeyong stutters, “That’s the thing! I kind of— I ran with it, because it makes _a lot_ of sense for a cover story, y’know? Me and Sicheng dating— It can explain why we live together, why I’m around him so much. They were confused for, like, two seconds before believing it.” He rubs his face. “ _That_ happened. I don’t know how to fix it. They don’t teach us this in training.”

Johnny laughs at Taeyong’s misery, and Taeyong juts out his lower lip. “You’re not breaking up any time soon, that’s for sure,” he declares. “You got yourself into this, you have to commit.”

Taeyong sits up, a curious expression on his face, and says slowly, “Wait. Like... fake-date?” Sicheng blinks.

Johnny nods. “When you’re around people you know. Hold hands or do couple-y things.” He fixes his hair, ruffling it into a bird’s nest, and leans onto his desk. “The reasoning you came up with is pretty understandable — as a cover story. Not uncommon either; I’ve heard about a fake engagement in Singapore. It makes the situation less suspicious, more covert. No one will suspect any ulterior motives.”

“Okay,” says Taeyong. He nods slowly to himself. “Okay, I got it.”

“Make sure you get your histories set straight. The most important part of a lie is the solid foundation,” Johnny advises. “I’ll write it down or even help you come up with stuff, if need be. I am a great storyteller. Flew past AP Literature senior year with a solid _B_.”

“I’ll pass,” Taeyong says. “Sicheng, are you okay with this? Do you know what’s going on?”

“Mm-hm,” Sicheng responds. He’s gotten the gist of everything: be Taeyong’s pretend boyfriend, hold hands, something about a salted fountain. It doesn’t sound hard at all. In fact, Sicheng proclaims happily, “Sounds fun!”

“Someone’s enthusiastic,” Johnny notes, chuckling.

“Taeyong hyung will cook for me more,” Sicheng says, smug.

Johnny bursts into laughter, throwing his head back and holding onto his stomach. “I’m glad to see our Chinese transport has his priorities straight,” he says, wiping at his eye. He rubs his stomach a few times. “Now that I think about it, I’m still up for waffles. Are you guys down?”

“It’s lunchtime,” Taeyong deadpans. He looks like he’s trying not to smile, though — Sicheng knows Taeyong has a weak spot for anything sweet.

“No, no, no. _Waffle_ time.” Johnny grins and stands, taking out his wallet from his desk. “My treat for you lovebirds!”

“Oh my _God_.”

Taeyong somehow sinks further into the beanbag chair. After Sicheng pulls him out, laughing, he stumbles his way to the elevator and walks next to Johnny, who walks in between him and Sicheng.

“I’ll be milking this until Sicheng goes back to China,” Johnny says. Taeyong glares at him. “Ouch. You’re jealous, aren’t you? That nasty, little green monster? Here, let me stand over there.” He moves to the other side and lets Sicheng walk in the middle, deliberately pushing Sicheng closer to Taeyong.

“I hate you,” grumbles Taeyong, and Sicheng claps him on the shoulder, beaming.

“Waffles!”

——

Being Taeyong’s boyfriend seems to be no different than being his roommate. They do the same things: walk to school, have dinner, watch movies. There’s nothing relatively new. When Taeyong’s friends come over, more often than Taeyong is used to, Sicheng settles closer to Taeyong’s side on the couch. Taeyong will let Sicheng lay his head on his shoulder or vice versa, and they just have an unspoken comfort between them. Natural. Easy.

Sicheng often forgets that he’s fake-dating Taeyong because they don’t _really_ feel like they’re dating. He doesn’t think that’s entirely fair or fun, so one morning he sticks out his left hand to Taeyong as they exit the apartment building.

“Hand,” he says. The season is in that awkward phase of blending from summer to fall. It’s getting colder now, but not cold enough to wear gloves. His fingertips are slightly red as he curls them towards Taeyong.

Glancing from Sicheng’s face to the outstretched hand Taeyong laughs shakily, that unsteady grin spreading on his face. “You’re kidding.” Sicheng is not kidding, obviously, and Taeyong sighs, “Sicheng.”

“Taeyong hyung,” retorts Sicheng. “Hand,” he says firmly.

“Why do you wanna hold my hand?”

Sicheng answers simply, “Boyfriend.” Again, he says, “Hand.”

“I can’t believe this,” Taeyong mumbles, cheeks turning pink. He reluctantly slips his hand into Sicheng’s, lacing their fingers together. “Okay. Here. Happy?”

Taeyong’s hand is a little smaller than Sicheng’s, colder and rougher, but it fits nicely in his own. Sicheng knows he won’t admit it now, but Taeyong likes skinship. He’s proven to be a hugger, and hand holding is a step backwards from that.

“Happy,” Sicheng assures, nodding.

“You’re super warm,” Taeyong says, taken aback. He glances at their connected hands and asks, “Will this become a regular thing?”

Sicheng shrugs.

(It does.)

——

The practice room floor is cool against Sicheng’s sticky skin. Everyone is taking a break, rehydrating themselves, the performance music playing in the background. Some of his classmates are still practicing, eyes glued to the mirror as they perfect their steps. The class has their first showcase in a few days, so tensions are high.

Yuta sits with Sicheng, his back to the wall, squirting water into his mouth. “It’s been quite a while since you moved here. Almost two months, right?”

“About.” Sicheng’s Korean is better, and he’s gotten used to most of the culture. (Except bathhouses are still scary.) He also has a job at the university, offered by Ms. Kwon, to deliver packages and clean the practice rooms after use. The pay is reasonable and the hours are flexible, too, which is nice.

“Have you made a lot of new friends? Aside from yours truly.”

“Ah, yes! Friends...” Sicheng knows that everyone in his dance class is friendly to him. Teachers and grocers are kind as well, but as for _friends_ —

“Boyfriend’s friends are my friends,” he declares cheerfully. Jaehyun, Taeil, Doyoung, and Johnny, too, have shown him nothing but love since he’s met them. Especially Taeyong.

Yuta nods. “Yeah, I see how that makes—” His water bottle falls from his hand, rolling a few feet away. He makes a screeching noise akin to a decade-old car muffler. “Hold the phone! _Boyfriend_!? Dong Sicheng, you sly fox!”

“Sly...?”

Yuta doesn’t even take the time to explain, crawling forward and grabbing Sicheng by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me!?” he shrieks, rattling Sicheng. “How’d you meet? How old is he? How long have you been dating? What’s his name?”

“Uh...” Sicheng pauses as he carefully thinks of the answers one by one. He and Taeyong made up a full history, but it takes time for him to remember it. “School. Twenty-two. A month and a half. Lee Taeyong.”

“No way,” Yuta says, in awe. “You’re joking.”

Sicheng shakes his head. “Boyfriend,” he repeats.

“He’s— Sicheng, he’s the tall, dark, handsome dreamboat of the university! Not that tall, but! Girls and guys have major crushes on him because he’s so _hot_ ,” Yuta rambles. “The problem is that _no one_ has ever had the guts to ask him out. I know once, when a girl tried, she was crying for days afterwards. Taeyong gives off that bad boy vibe. Cold city guy.”

“Huh.” Sicheng hadn’t known that. Hadn’t known any of this.

“I’ve seen him around some mutual friends, but he’s pretty closed off about himself. I can’t prejudge. All I know is he’s a great dancer and most likely a heartbreaker.” Yuta stares at the ceiling, sighing. “Lee Taeyong is like an untouchable god to us plebeians. What a wonder.”

“I don’t know what a lot of those words mean,” admits Sicheng, “but they don’t sound good.”  

“Not particularly, friend.”

“It all sounds very...” Sicheng frowns. “Lonely.”

Yuta, surprised, remarks quietly, “Never really thought of it that way.” He chuckles. “You two must fit nicely together.”

——

When tomorrow arrives, Sicheng’s class performs. It’s practically flawless, and Sicheng loves being on the stage again, the lights shining and audience cheering for him. Taeyong’s class performs, too, and his form is just as beautiful as Sicheng remembers, moves light and refined. Sicheng gets him a bouquet of flowers and, although they’re both sweaty and out of breath, squeezes him in a tight hug.

Rumors be damned, Taeyong is still Taeyong. He’s still Sicheng’s friend who cooks dinner for him and walks him to the store. He’s still the agent who picked him up from the airport, fumbling with his words. He’s still the Taeyong who watches movies with him at eleven at night and teaches him Korean no matter how frustrating it may be. Sicheng knows _this_ Taeyong, and he hugs him even tighter.

Taeyong laughs and fits his head into the crook of Sicheng’s neck, and something about it makes Sicheng want to never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“1 to 10” by berry good](https://youtu.be/5rNBHZAD7tI) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	5. the moment i dreamt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sicheng’s grin spreads. “Let’s get ice cream, hyung.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is taking so long to get posted!!! i'm spending a lil longer than i expected editing & reviewing ;; if u haven't noticed, chapter lengths vary from short to long, so feel free to wait until the whole fic is posted to finish reading ^^ thank u everyone for the love!!!

“Hyung!” exclaims Sicheng, smiling, ducking his head into Taeyong’s room. Taeyong is at his desk, typing an assignment for his writing class, Bluetooth speakers playing Troye Sivan. He looks at Sicheng and coolly waves a hand.

“Yo.”

Sicheng’s grin spreads. “Let’s get ice cream, hyung.”

“There’s no more in the freezer,” Taeyong proclaims, confused. Sicheng’s grin stays wide as he points out the window. Taeyong scoffs, “Seriously? Do you realize how cold it is outside?”

Sicheng clasps his hands together and whines, “ _Please_! Ice cream!” He pouts and tries to look as pitiful as possible, even getting down on his knees like a beggar.

Taeyong can’t say no to that face. Lee Taeyong, age twenty-two, trained in every kind of martial arts, can fight gang members and hired mercenaries, but he’s weak for newborn babies and undeniable cuteness. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t such a softie.

He sighs heavily. “Hold on. I gotta find my coat.” Sicheng cheers triumphantly.

Taeyong’s coat is hung on the coatrack by the door, but Sicheng’s is harder to come by. For some reason it’s on the floor, next to the air vent, which Sicheng rationalizes as “keeping it toasty.” Taeyong doesn’t question it.

They’re putting on their shoes when Sicheng holds out his hand for Taeyong to take.

“Oh, this again?” Taeyong says, resigned.

Sicheng nods. “Hand,” he urges.

“Fine. Hand.” Taeyong holds Sicheng’s hand and the younger male hums, content. “You’re lucky it’s cold out. You’re unnaturally warm — like a human hot pack.”

“Thank you!”

The convenience store is only a block away. Sicheng has memorized the path because he and Taeyong stop by every so often for snacks and drinks. Sicheng likes their assortment of ice cream, so he prefers walking here instead of the supermarket further away. He swings the arm that’s holding Taeyong’s hand until they get to the store, Sicheng then immediately releasing his grip to rush to the ice box.

Taeyong joins him shortly, peering through the see-through cover and asking, “What flavor?”

Sicheng has thought about this very intently, weighing all possible options for himself and determining the right choice given the circumstances (Sicheng’s mood, differences in brand, current phase of the moon, etc.). He points to the cone in pink packaging. “Strawberry,” he says.

Taeyongs slides open the cover and takes that one out. He thinks for a moment and grabs the cone in complementary brown packaging. “I’ll eat the chocolate one, so we can share,” he explains, and Sicheng goes “ _oooh_ ” delightedly.

The cashier checks out the ice cream. She asks if they need a bag, but Taeyong tells her it’s fine. They open the ice cream cones and eat them on their way back home, Sicheng tightly holding onto Taeyong’s hand the entire walk. Sicheng’s strawberry tastes sweet, and Taeyong’s chocolate is rich. Despite the cold, the ice cream is delicious and melts in Sicheng’s mouth.

“Best boyfriend ever,” he hums, licking the ice cream as it drips down the cone.

Taeyong smiles. “You’re welcome.”

——

A shopping trip is in order when Sicheng rips a hole in two of his shirts in the middle of October. Taeyong can only sew so many times and would rather get Sicheng new clothes than keep fixing the battered ones. He takes Sicheng to the indoor mall, where there are dozens of stores to choose from, pulling him along by the hand. While they’re looking for an appropriate store, they run into some familiar faces.

Yuta is grinning broadly as he greets, “Hey! What’re you guys up to?” There’s someone next to him, tall and wide-eyed, who Sicheng assumes is Yuta’s roommate Hansol. Sicheng hasn’t met him before, but he seems to know Taeyong, from the way they bump fists.

“Shopping,” answers Sicheng.

“Can we tag along?” asks Yuta. He turns to Taeyong and sticks out a hand for a handshake. “I’m Yuta, by the way. We’ve seen each other around, but I don’t think we’ve formally met.”

“I know you,” Taeyong says, shaking his hand. Yuta looks surprised at this. “Sicheng talks about you a lot.”

Yuta’s eyes light up. “Oh! Really? I’m honored!”

“Don’t inflate his ego,” Hansol says, and Yuta glares at him. Taeyong snorts. “So yes or no? Can we come, too? We’ve been walking around with no real plans for the last ten minutes after getting kicked out of McDonald’s for loitering.”

Taeyong glances at Sicheng, who shrugs and nods. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he concludes. “Wanna help pick out clothes for Sicheng?”

“I got you. Fashionista is my middle name,” Yuta boasts, walking in the opposite direction and expecting everyone to follow, which they do.

Hansol points out, “You don’t have a middle name.”

“Don’t talk to me, peasant.”

After leading the group to a clothing store across the mall, Yuta goes off in search of clothes for Sicheng. Hansol looks at the racks of hats on the wall, and Taeyong stays close to Sicheng so he can explain the prices. There’s a wide variety of clothes, from denim jackets to angora sweaters, and Sicheng has trouble figuring out what would fit him. He’s not used to shopping, and he mostly turns to Taeyong for his opinion. When they’ve picked out enough clothes, they head to the fitting room area to look over the garments.

Yuta can barely see over the mountain he has in his arms, colorful and textured. “I didn’t know what you were looking for, so I grabbed everything that would look good on Sicheng,” he says, with a little difficulty, arms tired.

“Casual clothes,” Taeyong deadpans as a bedazzled blouse falls from Yuta’s pile. He grabs it and squints at the color-changing sequins. “We’re looking for _casual_ clothes, man.”

“I’m not putting these back.”

Hansol pinches a horrifying, racoon-like object, disdain clear in his features. “When will he ever, _ever_ find the need to wear a faux animal fur coat?”

Yuta shrugs. “Fun at parties.” He nods to Clothes Mountain. “There’s a matching hat in here somewhere, too. It has a tail, with stripes.”

“Fuzzy,” Sicheng remarks, rubbing his hand against the material of the coat. At that moment a pair of flared jeans slips from Yuta’s grasp. No one makes to pick it up. Yuta knows it isn’t meant to be.

Taeyong has hangers on his arm, too, but a much lesser amount than Yuta. He hands them off to Sicheng. “Try on what you like,” he says. “I’ll buy whatever you want.”

“Wow, TY,” says Hansol, whistling. “For a second there, I thought you were cool.” Taeyong rolls his eyes.

Yuta drops Clothes Mountain in one of the dressing rooms, exhaling loudly as he returns. “Give us a fashion show, Sicheng!” he exclaims.  

Sicheng has fun trying on the clothes. The combinations he makes aren’t the best, but he’s satisfied with the outfits. He twirls around, smile wide, showing off a multitude of scarves and jeans. Yuta applauds and snaps pictures, pretending to be his paparazzi, showering him with praise. Hansol gives him ratings out of ten, which are objective a majority of the time. Taeyong lets Sicheng take selfies with him, even in that god awful fur coat, which Hansol rates as a negative nine out of ten, would not even recommend to the girl who stuck gum in his hair in the second grade.

In the end Sicheng only chooses four shirts, a hoodie, and two pairs of jeans out of the entire collection his friends picked for him. Everything else is either too gaudy or too expensive. Taeyong buys them with his credit card, the total making Yuta’s jaw drop and Sicheng grimace.

“It’s fine,” assures Taeyong. “This isn’t a lot.”

“That’s arguable,” Hansol says, and Sicheng worries his lip. “I mean! To a friend, it’s a more excessive spending. It’s okay since you two are dating. That’s an acceptable double standard.”

The topic gets brushed off as they walk to the food court for lunch, but Sicheng can’t help but feel the bag at the end of his arm weigh him down like guilt. Yuta jostles him, envies him for having such a doting boyfriend, and it only makes it worse. The fast food they have is overly greasy and makes him sick, so Sicheng tells them he has no appetite. Taeyong offers him his juice, which he takes the teensiest sip of. When they part ways, Hansol and Yuta going back to their dorm, they tell Sicheng to feel better and “stop looking so down.”

The second Taeyong and Sicheng step inside the apartment Taeyong puts a hand on Sicheng’s shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Sicheng doesn’t hide his disappointment in himself as he purses his lips. “You...” He tries his best not to phrase the problem like it’s Taeyong’s fault to fix, because it’s not. It’s all on Sicheng. He’s figuring out what to do, trying to keep up. Trying not to fall behind.

“You take care of me. A lot. You do so much.”

Taeyong frowns deeply. He glances at the bag Sicheng still has in his hand. “Is this about the clothes?” he asks, and Sicheng struggles to answer him, staring at his socked feet and shrugging. “Sicheng, don’t feel bad about it — about the money, about anything. I’m doing what I can to help you while you’re in Seoul.”

“Taeyong hyung,” Sicheng says, and he remembers this feeling all too well. He remembers feeling small and helpless, an orphan boy with no family, and he hates it. Dong Sicheng is stronger than this. “You don’t have to.”

“I _want_ to,” insists Taeyong. He’s sincere, Sicheng knows it, but he can’t accept the the response.

“You shouldn’t.”

Taeyong rubs his chin, thinking hard. “Listen,” he begins, “how about... you help me when I’m doing chores. Laundry, dishes, and all that jazz. That’ll make up for what I do for you.”

It’s Sicheng’s turn to frown. “But I’m not good.” _Sicheng_ and _housework_ are two things that have never clicked. Just yesterday he almost lit the apartment on fire whilst microwaving a frozen pizza. And Taeyong knows this, because he’d been the one to take the pizza out of the aluminum foil and scold Sicheng.

“I’ll appreciate the help,” Taeyong says. “It just takes some practice. Okay?”

Sicheng isn’t completely satisfied, but it’s better than getting everything without charge. He’ll work off what he owes, like the Romans did. Or was it the Greeks? Actually, it sounds American. Whatever the saying goes, he’ll do it.

“Okay,” he affirms. He feels his cheeks flush, ashamed. “Sorry, hyung.”

“Don’t say sorry for something you shouldn’t be sorry for,” Taeyong chides, patting his arm reassuringly. Sicheng gives him a small smile. “Now, get your hamper of dirty clothes. It’s laundry day, and I’m gonna teach you the importance of separating whites and colors.”

——

“Babe, can you take this bowl?”

Taeyong asks this while he and Sicheng are washing dishes, long after dinner. Having no dishwasher, Taeyong is in charge of scrubbing the dishes while Sicheng quick-dries and sets them on the drying rack. Sicheng had been momentarily distracted by the movie playing on the TV, one from the Marvel franchise, dubbed in Korean with fast-paced Chinese subtitles. He takes the wet bowl from Taeyong and towels it dry, and when he puts it on the rack he backtracks.

“What’s that mean?”

Taeyong looks up. “Bowl? Like, you hold food in it. It’s in the same family as the plate.” He frowns at the soapy sponge in his hand. “I taught you that already.”

“No, not that.” Sicheng goes over the word in question in his mind, matching the syllables in the correct places.

“Babe.”

A plate slips from Taeyong’s grip, thankfully not shattering in the sudsy sink, and he stammers, “Oh, uh, That’s— That’s like a nickname.” The ends of his ears are glowing red.

“My nickname?” asks Sicheng.

“No— Well, yes. Uh.” Taeyong bites his lip. “You can call your— your significant other that. Anyone can. A significant other to their significant other. Babe, honey, muffin, baby, etc. Pet names like that.”

Sicheng nods. “I like baby. And babe,” he says. After thinking about it some more he frowns. “Don’t call me food.”

Still pink, Taeyong laughs, “Got it.”

Grinning, Sicheng tries, “Taeyong hyung is babe,” and looks expectantly at Taeyong.

“Um, not quite. We’ll... work on that.”

After the dishes, Taeyong and Sicheng stay on the couch to watch the rest of the movie. There are loud booms, flashing lights, and orchestral music that builds suspense. Taeyong likes to lay his head on Sicheng’s arm, sometimes nodding off, because he gets sleepy watching all these movies. Tonight, though, Taeyong is more fidgety than usual. Not nervous, per se, but unsteady. Sicheng puts his arm around him, keeping him close and warm, and it seems to calm him down.

“Hey, Sicheng,” Taeyong says suddenly, voice cutting through the air. He’s staring at his fingers, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “Have you been in a relationship before? I don’t want to sound nosy, but. I mean, if this— If _I’m_ your first relationship... experience, I should step up my game.”

“One girlfriend. One boyfriend,” Sicheng replies swiftly. Taeyong relaxes, but there is still an inexplicable tension in his shoulders that drives Sicheng to inquire, “What about you?”

“Me?” Taeyong takes a few seconds to answer. “Yeah, I— I had two boyfriends. Way back when. Being an agent takes too much of your time to have a long-lasting and steady relationship, so.”

Sicheng knocks his cheek on Taeyong’s head, humming. “Were they like me?”

Taeyong snorts. He moves closer to Sicheng and explains, “One of them was a _huge_ soccer fan. He ditched our four-month anniversary dinner to go to a sports bar. Ironically, I was gonna surprise him with tickets to an FC Seoul game. I ending up giving them to Jaehyun and Johnny.” Sicheng wrinkles his nose. “My other ex was obsessive and never left me alone. He would go through my phone, sneak into my house, take my things without asking... If I wasn’t an agent, he’d have kept me on lockdown. I almost had to get a restraining order — that’s an official way of making someone stay away from you. He took it hard when I broke up with him, but it was for the best.

“So no,” Taeyong concludes, “nothing like you.”

“Good.”

Sicheng wouldn’t want to be like that in a relationship. Apathetic and uncaring. Possessive and fixated. That’s not a good match for Taeyong, who deserves someone with a more generous heart and lovable soul. It’s not too much to ask, especially when Taeyong is one of the kindest and most gracious people Sicheng has had the pleasure of meeting.

“What— What about your exes? Am I similar to them?”

An explosion colors the TV screen. A building crumbles to pieces. The collateral damage is devastating.

“You are taller,” Sicheng says, and he can feel Taeyong grin. “More handsome. Cooler. Good cook.” He grows quiet, eyes downcast. “Nicer.”

Taeyong turns, frowning at Sicheng. “Your other relationships weren’t nice? What do you mean?”

“Complicated,” says Sicheng, with a bitter smile. “Tell you later, hyung.” He lets Taeyong lean on him, refocusing on the movie.

The Avengers are close to saving the world, again. Taeyong is shifting constantly, so he’s not asleep. Not yet, at least. Sicheng asks him what some words mean every so often — there’s a lot of superhero jargon that Sicheng hadn’t known existed until now. Taeyong, like always, does his best giving definitions and examples. Sicheng sort of gets it, but he’ll check the internet later, just to be sure.

“Hey, Sicheng,” Taeyong says once more, sitting up. There are probably twenty minutes left of the movie. Cue another explosion.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Let’s kiss.”

“Kiss?” Sicheng’s heard that right. _Kiss_. It’s a word they use a lot in romance drama. The female and male leads _kiss_ and spend the next five minutes being filmed from every possible angle, eyes wide, dreamy BGM that cuts to the preview of the next episode. His life isn’t a romcom, last he checked, so he’s rightfully confused. “Why?”

Taeyong looks down. “It’s— It’s like practice. If one day we have to do it in front of others, I’d rather it not be so awkward.” He smiles nervously. “Or. Well, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m just, uh, throwing out a suggestion. You don’t have to—”

Sicheng leans and presses his lips to the corner of Taeyong’s mouth. Taeyong’s rambling stops instantly, and he stares, shocked, as Sicheng moves in again and fits his lips on his.

There’s nothing mindblowing about it, nothing world altering. Sicheng has kissed and been kissed before. Taeyong, too, must be somewhat experienced. There’s no clashing of teeth, no bumping of noses. Neither of them gasps for air because they forget to breathe.

They kiss. Taeyong’s lips are gentle, pressing against Sicheng’s, never wavering. Taeyong kisses exactly how he treats Sicheng in the mornings, slow and patient, letting Sicheng lead the way and, when Sicheng slows down, taking over. The time goes by, mere seconds, but Sicheng gets lost in the way Taeyong holds onto him, holds on like he’d never let go.

Sicheng pulls back, breathless. (It’s overwhelming, Taeyong is overwhelming, this _feeling_ is overwhelming.)

“Like that?” he asks, but his voice is much weaker than he’d intended. His cheeks are heating, and he’s wondering if that’s because of embarrassment or Taeyong. Or both.

“Oh,” Taeyong says unintelligibly. He unconsciously leaves his fingers to linger over his mouth, nodding. He reminds Sicheng of a robot that can’t compute a multi-variable equation.

“Taeyong hyung?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says hastily, nodding faster. “Like that. Yeah.”

“Hyung,” Sicheng says, and Taeyong jumps. “You need chapstick, hyung.”

Taeyong blushes bright red. “Hey, I—” He doesn’t get to finish because Sicheng kisses him again, and again, and then again, until Sicheng’s lungs feel like they’ll burst. Taeyong is fire, and Sicheng has never been afraid of burning.

(They don’t talk about it in the morning, skillfully avoiding gazes, even though Sicheng doesn’t really know what _it_ is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“on & on” by voisper](https://youtu.be/yLXRFHKkRJA) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	6. like cinnamon powder cotton candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And...” Sicheng presses a hand to Taeyong’s hair, dark strands tickling his fingertips. “I like Taeyong hyung.” Yeah, that’s true. “He smells nice,” Sicheng adds for good measure.

The front door bursts open and Jaehyun’s blond head appears in Sicheng’s peripheral vision. His voice is borderline nagging as he says, “Hey, you guys should really change your passcode to something that isn’t your birth— Oh, Christ.”

“Shhh,” Sicheng shushes, pressing a finger to his lips. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch while Taeyong’s head is in his lap, the rest of the elder’s body curled inward like a small child. “Hyung is sleeping.”

Doyoung comes behind Jaehyun, grimacing. “What are we supposed to do? I can’t make fun of Taeyong hyung wearing Charmander socks when this is so _cute_. I’m calling the police.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” sighs Taeil, shutting the door behind him. He’s holding a large bag, cords sticking out from the top, and waves to Sicheng. “Sorry for the intrusion. How’re you doing?”

“Good! I feel good.”

“We came for a videogame night,” Jaehyun declares. “We normally have it at Taeil hyung’s place, but his roommate is being a dick and kicked him out.”

“Ten isn’t a dick,” defends Taeil. “He promised to hang out with his girl friends at the dorm and I didn’t want them to feel weird with us there. We can’t have more than five people in the room at a time anyway. Ten would throw a fit.”

“You like him too much,” Doyoung says, smirking. Sicheng giggles.

Taeil sniffs. “I like him a very normal amount, thank you very much.” He puts the bag by the TV and crouches, Jaehyun doing the same.

“Do you mind if we set up the games?” Jaehyun asks Sicheng.

“Quietly,” Sicheng says. He hasn’t been paying much attention to the TV anyway.

Jaehyun and Taeil hook up the Wii while Doyoung grabs snacks from the kitchen. Sicheng watches them as he plays with Taeyong’s hair, careful not to wake the elder. Taeyong isn’t the lightest of sleepers, but Sicheng has found that if he messes too much with Taeyong he jolts awake, instantly alert. (“Agent instinct,” he’d murmured groggily, one night, five seconds later going back to snoring.) Sicheng sticks to lifting the ends of Taeyong’s hair, running his fingers across the roots, and smoothing it down when it sticks out.

After a few minutes, Doyoung puts a plate of dumplings on the table and sits down on the opposite couch. It’s become customary for Sicheng and Taeyong to have an entire couch for themselves, which no one is keen on encroaching on.

Doyoung wipes his palms on his thighs and says, uncharacteristically quiet, “Sicheng, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” says Sicheng. Doyoung looks between him and the snoring Taeyong.

“How did you two start dating?”

(Now _that’s_ characteristically Doyoung.)

Taeil and Jaehyun tune to the conversation, interest piqued, and Sicheng blurts, “Uh.” He gulps. Honestly, he doesn’t remember that part of the relationship story well, and since Taeyong is asleep he can’t get Sicheng out of this.

“We... met,” he says, lips thinned.

“That’s normally how relationships start,” Jaehyun snickers.

Sicheng nods. “Yes.” He hopes it stops there. It does not stop there.

“And...?” Doyoung goads. “What else?”

“And...” Sicheng presses a hand to Taeyong’s hair, dark strands tickling his fingertips. “I like Taeyong hyung.” Yeah, that’s true. “He smells nice,” Sicheng adds for good measure.

“Taeyong smells like a sock straight out of the laundry pile that’s been spritzed with Febreze,” Jaehyun says, amused.

“Febreze?”

“That’s an air freshener brand,” Taeil explains. “It’s Taeyong’s favorite, God knows why.”

“Okay, but really. Is that the whole story?” Doyoung asks, literally at the edge of his seat. “You confessed to Taeyong, he said yes, and here you are now? I don’t buy it. He’d never make it that easy.”

Sicheng ponders. “No,” he says slowly, the gears turning in his head, because he may as well have some fun with this. He’ll fill Taeyong in later, but for now it’s time to mess with the story. No harm, no foul, right? Just another white lie.

“Hyung asked me out.”

Taeil gasps, and Doyoung’s eyes widen.

“Gamechanger!” Jaehyun remarks. “Any idea why he decided to ask you?”

Oh, Sicheng hadn’t thought of that yet. He scratches his head.

“Because...”

He looks at Taeyong, the acne scars on his cheek, the way his eyelashes fan over his skin. Taeyong is handsome, talented, sweet. He’s the model boyfriend, caring wholeheartedly for Sicheng’s wellbeing. Sicheng wonders what Taeyong would ever see in him, if they were really dating — the Chinese orphan with nothing more than the clothes on his back. The thought makes him cringe.

But they’re not actually dating, so Sicheng can lie all he wants.

“Taeyong hyung likes me.” He grins, but something inside him aches. “We like each other. That’s all.”

Doyoung makes a small kitten-like noise, hands over his heart, and sighs, “Sicheng is so _simple_. Relationship goals. Honestly. Where’s my Prince Charming?” Jaehyun scoffs and Taeil fails at holding in his laughter. “Okay, _rude_. Get the game started so I can kick your asses.”

 _Mario Kart_ is the go-to battlefield. They have four controllers — not those Wii remotes with attachable wheel add-ons, but Gamecube controllers with all the colorful knobs and buttons. Jaehyun chooses Yoshi, Doyoung chooses Daisy, Taeil chooses Toad, and Sicheng chooses Mario, who is coincidentally Taeyong’s usual. They pick a simple circuit, including computer racers on easy, since Sicheng has never played before, and rev their engines.

Sicheng is surprisingly a natural. After they explain to him which buttons to press, what items do what, he’s speeding past everyone in his red racer cart. He’s lucky, too, and almost always gets Shells from the Mystery Boxes. Doyoung jokes that he’s rigging the game, not taking Sicheng too seriously, but eventually he’s almost cursing at Sicheng who repeatedly pushes him off the platform. Jaehyun tries to placate him, “It’s just a game, man,” which does not work as he also fucks Doyoung over with a banana peel to the wheels. Taeil is quiet during most of the races, mostly because he’s “concentrating” and can’t seem to make it past fourth place.

“Videogames are fun,” Sicheng declares excitedly, winning first place for the circuit, a dancing Mario celebrating on the screen. Doyoung is the bitter second, while Jaehyun is third and Taeil is fourth.

Doyoung requests— no, _demands_ for a rematch.

Maybe twenty, thirty minutes later, Taeyong wakes up when Sicheng drops the controller on his face. Accidentally, of course. How he hadn’t woken up at all the commotion before is beyond Sicheng, but that is one of the many mysteries of Lee Taeyong.

It happens by the remote slipping from Sicheng’s grasp and landing on Taeyong’s nose, which causes Taeyong to yelp and turns scarlet at the impact. Sicheng fusses over the swelling bruise, apologizes endlessly, while Jaehyun calls Taeyong “Rudolph.” Taeil fetches him an ice pack and Doyoung takes a picture for posterity’s sake. Taeyong assures Sicheng he’s fine, he’s had a lot worse, it doesn’t hurt one bit, but Sicheng is still guilty.

Sicheng remembers how, as a kid, the auntie at the orphanage would kiss away the many scratches and bruises he’d get after roughhousing to make the pain disappear. He decides to do just that, softly pecking the tip of Taeyong’s nose and humming, “Pain, fly away.”

Taeyong’s face quickly becomes the same shade as his nose, melting his ice pack at record speed. Doyoung sighs, “Goals,” and then proceeds to pass Sicheng’s stationary Mario to snag first place. Jaehyun gets second, with the help of Bullet Bill, while Taeil somehow manages to land in fourth place like it’s destined to be.  

After all’s said and done, Taeyong takes over Sicheng’s remote and beats Doyoung in the next three races, so he calls it even. And, again, Doyoung calls it rigged.

——

Chuseok is a Korean holiday that Sicheng doesn’t know anything about. It’s an autumn harvest festival, lasting three days, that has to do with the lunar calendar and full moon. It falls in the middle of October this year, which Sicheng thinks is a nice time for celebrating. It’s like a Korean Thanksgiving, Taeyong explains simply. (Sicheng doesn’t know what Thanksgiving is, but he pretends.) He tells Sicheng it’s become a time for visiting family, honoring ancestors, and eating good food.

Taeyong, however, doesn’t visit his family this year. He tells Sicheng he’s better off staying in Seoul and calling them when the time comes. They’re not a very sentimental bunch, so a typical Chuseok isn’t eventful anyway. While many of their friends go back home, Taeyong and Sicheng stay in the comfort of their apartment.

It’s a quiet few days in the city. Sicheng gets a chance to really see Seoul, to slow down and take a breather. Taeyong walks him through streets that, on a normal day, would be flooded with cars and pedestrians. Instead, there are only a few stores open, taxis that drive around with no real place to be. They also take a leisure stroll in the park, while classes are cancelled, and admire the trees that are changing from leafy green to golden orange.

For the first time since setting foot in Korea, Sicheng sees a squirrel. A _Korean_ squirrel (which is really no different than a squirrel from China, but Sicheng believes it’s the thought that counts). The squirrel is climbing down a tree, beady eyes staring deep into Sicheng’s soul, and freezes when he notices the humans. Sicheng tugs incessantly on Taeyong’s sleeve, pointing and gasping, so Taeyong lets Sicheng feed it a snack.

“Oh my goodness,” Sicheng whispers as the squirrel nibbles at the cracker he holds out to it. “It’s so— so—”

Taeyong smiles, gazing at the small rodent and then at Sicheng. “Cute?”

Sicheng nods furiously and repeats the word, over and over again, until the squirrel snatches the cracker in its tiny claws and runs away. Sicheng deflates, but then Taeyong brings him to a nearby pond and shows him a family of ducks — _Korean_ ducks, and Sicheng’s mood is beyond elated.

——

Sicheng has never gone on his own... anywhere. Taeyong stays with him at all times to make sure he’s safe. If not Taeyong, it’s Johnny who’s beside him or some other agent at NCT. The only times Sicheng is truly alone is when he’s attending classes, in bed, or in the bathroom. Aside from that, there’s always someone escorting Sicheng from one place to another.

Today, though, Sicheng is sent on a “mission.” Taeyong tells him to run to the convenience store and buy a bottle of aspirin. He makes sure to write down the name and brand, as well as draw a small picture for Sicheng. He has a migraine — “a very bad headache” — and can’t stand properly, so Dong Sicheng is given the job. The store is only a block away and it’s a small errand, but Sicheng salutes like it’s a high priority task as he leaves the apartment.

Sicheng is only a tiny bit intimidated at going alone. He clutches tightly onto the paper as he explores the aisles of the store. Aspirin is on the way bottom of the medicine section, so he takes one and shuffles to the register. He pays with the money Taeyong had given him, making sure to check if he got the correct amount of change in return, and murmurs, “mission success” as he skips back to home.

Punching in the keycode, Sicheng opens the door and is greeted by a pitch black apartment. He frowns. Although it’s too early for Taeyong to sleep, maybe he’s feeling worse and went to bed early. That’s no good. He hits the lights and jumps at the abrupt crackling sound of... party poppers?

“SURPRISE!”

Almost all Sicheng’s friends are in the apartment — Yuta, Jaehyun, Doyoung, Hansol, and Taeil. There are colorful decorations along the walls, streamers and twirly-things, and everyone has a pointy cardboard hat on. Balloons of all kinds float in the air — Pokémon, Spongebob, single colors, and one that says _it’s a boy!_ that screams Jaehyun. A long banner that says _HAPPY BIRTHDAY DONG SICHENG_ in Chinese is above the TV (the lines of the characters are off, but Sicheng recognizes the attempt). There’s even a pile of wrapped gifts pushed against the wall. Taeyong is standing at the center of it all, grinning broadly and looking completely healthy.

“Oh!” Sicheng begins to smile. Just two days ago was Yuta’s birthday, October twenty-sixth. Today is the twenty-eighth of October. That means it’s Sicheng’s birthday, and he’s finally reached his twenties. How about that?

Yuta bounds to him first, arms spread wide, and squeezes him in a hug. “Happy birthday, Sicheng! Your very first celebration in Seoul!”

“Birthday,” echoes Sicheng as he pretends to hit his head with his fist. “I forgot!” Everyone gets a good laugh out of that, and they all greet Sicheng properly as Doyoung puts a Winnie the Pooh headband on him.

Taeyong comes up to him a little bit later, while everyone is gathered around the TV for games, and takes the aspirin from Sicheng to put in the medicine cabinet. When he comes back, Sicheng holds Taeyong’s hand with both of his and gives him a smile. Taeyong is just barely trembling, and Sicheng probably wouldn’t have noticed if Taeyong wasn’t touching him.

“Sorry that this was out of the blue,” Taeyong says. “Well, that’s the whole point of a surprise party, but...” He rubs his neck, looking around. “Yuta suggested it. I helped get everyone together. All the decorations— Everyone pitched in.”

“I like this,” Sicheng says brightly. “Don’t worry, hyung.” Taeyong exhales, relieved, and Sicheng pulls Taeyong to the couch so they can watch Pikachu (Yuta) headbutt Kirby (Doyoung) off the Final Destination platform in Super Smash Bros.

An hour passes, and everyone is wholly invested in the game. While Taeyong and Sicheng sit on the couch everyone else is rooted to the floor, not even bothering to fight for the other couch. They switch off players, since only four can play at a time, and decide that rock-paper-scissors is the fairest way to go about the matches. Yuta is definitely sitting too close to the TV, and every few minutes Doyoung chides him to move his big head. The current game has Pikachu (Yuta), Lucario (Taeyong), Ness (Taeil), and Marth (Sicheng). Marth is ahead with five lives remaining, compared to the others’ meager two, much to the other players’ chagrin.

The sudden chiming of the passcode lock alerts everyone’s attention to the door. Jaehyun sits up and recognizes the face right away.

“Yo, it’s Johnny!” he exclaims. Johnny narrows his eyes at him as he balances a precariously wrapped object under his arm while simultaneously taking off his shoes. He looks like a drunk flamingo, and Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “Johnny _hyung_ , geez.”

Johnny smiles, pleased, and saunters his way to the living room. “Yes, it is I, Johnny Suh, a simple accounting intern and Korean-American, now entering the apartment.” He winks ever so slightly to Sicheng and bops Doyoung, Taeil, Jaehyun, and Taeyong on the head. “Long time no see, friends!” He bops Yuta and Sicheng, too. “New friends.”

“Wait, when did you meet them?” Doyoung asks, retrieving a bag of chips from the kitchen. “Sicheng specifically. This _is_ his birthday party, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I don’t actually know this one yet,” Johnny confesses, gesturing to Yuta and getting a perky introduction moments later. “Okay, so I met Yuta ten seconds ago. As for Sicheng? We go way back! And by way back, I mean last month. Ish.”

“That means we found out before Johnny. About Taeyong and Sicheng,” Taeil remarks quietly. He places a palm on his chest. “There’s a small sense of accomplishment brewing inside of me.”

Johnny holds out his gift to Sicheng and says, “Happy birthday, dude. If you don’t like it, you can return it. But I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”

“Present opening time is for _later_ ,” Doyoung stresses, bumping Johnny’s hip as he places the chips on the table. “Move it along, beanpole. We have things to do.”

“Yeah, come get killed by Sicheng in Super Mario Bros.,” Jaehyun declares, biting back a grin. The game is still going on the screen, where Marth slashes Samus into oblivion. Brutally. “You see that? He’s a _beast_.”

So Johnny joins the party. Doyoung gives him a pointy hat to wear, which he struggles with before getting it around his ears. After he puts down Sicheng’s present he gets to play next. Next round, he switches with Yuta and chooses Pit, the loyal angel, his favorite character who he vows will lead him to absolute victory.

Johnny loses four of his six lives in the first minute of gameplay. Jaehyun swears he’ll die laughing at the dead look in Johnny’s eyes as the fifth one is wrecked, too, Pit’s screams pathetic as he’s blasted into sky. Marth has zero mercy.

After everyone is tired of getting beat by Sicheng, they switch the TV to a movie channel and order fried chicken. They finish five boxes of sauced and seasoned, and afterwards they move onto the birthday cake and song tradition. It’s a layer of sponge cake and a layer of vanilla ice cream, much to Sicheng’s delight, with _2_ and _0_ candles. Taeyong carefully lights them with a match and an inharmonious birthday song follows. Sicheng clasps his hands together, closes his eyes, and makes a wish as he blows out the candles. Jaehyun unsuccessfully tries to cake him, instead landing frosted fingers in Hansol’s luscious hair and running for his dear life as he cries, “I didn’t mean to, hyung!”

Presents are done in the living room after everyone eats a slice of cake. Sicheng is on the floor with the gifts surrounding him, Taeyong at his side and the rest of his friends in an abstract circle. The first one he opens is in a box, a stick-on bow atop its lid. From the rounded scrawl written in three different languages, he knows it’s from Yuta. When Sicheng opens it he recognizes the gift as a snapback from the store he’d gone to with Yuta, Hansol, and Taeyong. It’s solid red, black under the flap, with a white heart on the front.

“It’s a hat!” Sicheng exclaims. He takes off the Winnie the Pooh headband and tries it on. It’s a perfect fit. “Thank you, Yuta hyung!”

Yuta brushes invisible dust off his inflating shoulders. “I know, I know — I have great taste.”

“That is not what he said at all,” Doyoung scoffs, and Yuta squints at him.

Everyone’s gifts to Sicheng are wonderful. Jaehyun gives him _Moana_ and _Princess and the Frog_ , both DVD copies. Taeil gets him a pillow that has the phrase “your only limit is you” in straight-lined, neat hangul. Doyoung gives him a notepad (“How soulless,” murmurs Yuta) and Hansol gifts a tin of cheddar cheese popcorn. Johnny gives him a plush lettuce, which makes Sicheng laugh. Whenever he visits Johnny’s room at NCT headquarters he always plays with the stuffed corn and broccoli — now he has a vegetable to call his own.

Taeyong’s present is last. No one has a clue what it could be, so they sit on their heels in anticipation as Sicheng examines it. It’s in a white envelope, sealed with a smiley face sticker, with no writing on the outside. He carefully opens it and pulls out a set of ticket-like slips of paper. Sicheng reads the inky handwriting on one of the slips, messy and almost illegible, aloud slowly.

“ _One wish of five. Usable for any and all situations. No expiration date. From, TY._ ”

Everyone regards Taeyong with a low-toned “ _oooh_ ” as the subject of teasing ducks his head, shy.

“You’re supposed to do _three_ wishes,” Jaehyun teases, pushing at Taeyong’s arm.

Taeyong huffs, “What do I look like, a genie? Not a chance.” Swiftly, he explains to Sicheng what that means — an all-powerful being that lives in a lamp and grants its master wishes.

“Thanks, hyung,” says Sicheng, “for the magic.” Doyoung whimpers.

“Happy birthday, babe.” Taeyong kisses Sicheng’s cheek, a light peck, and another round of raucous hollering ensues.

“Ow! Right in the heart,” groans Doyoung, falling onto his back. He pounds his chest and declares dramatically, “Too cute. I’m hurt. Prepare my coffin.” Taeil pats his leg.

“What can I do with them?” Sicheng asks, shuffling through the slips, gazing eagerly at Taeyong. “Wishes? What do I do?”

“That means you can ask Taeyong to do whatever you want,” Hansol answers for him. “Think of a coupon, only instead of half-priced cartons of eggs you get Taeyong to make you an omelette. Boom, breakfast has been revolutionized.”

Sicheng’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. He practically vibrates with excitement at the mere thought — Taeyong doing _anything_ Sicheng wants. He leans against Taeyong’s side, laughing as he shows off his newfound source of entertainment.

“He’s realized true power,” Taeil says, stone-faced.

“Sicheng, I will literally pay you for one. The embarrassing blackmail material I can get with that is priceless,” Jaehyun pleads, awestruck.

“No.” Sicheng puts the slips back into the envelope and seals it. He tucks it under his butt for safekeeping. “Mine only.” He childishly sticks out his tongue. When Jaehyun makes a grab for it, Sicheng throws the snapback, plushie lettuce, and _Moana_ at him, huffing, “Get your own boyfriend!”

They forgo games and gifts for senseless chit-chat — odd anecdotes from Johnny about America, ghost stories about Japan from Yuta, and Doyoung trying to butt into the foreigner conversation with fun facts about South Korea. (It doesn’t really work in his favor, but Sicheng understands that he’s trying.) Unfortunately, they can’t all stay forever. There are classes in the morning, work to be done, and a reality to check back into.

Sicheng’s birthday party comes to an end when the clock strikes ten. He thanks everyone for coming and for getting him wonderful, well thought out gifts — yes, even Doyoung, because notepads are practical. Sicheng sees them out the door as Taeyong puts away dirty plates and silverware inside. When Johnny leaves, giving Sicheng a Chicago bear hug before departing, Sicheng locks the door and then helps Taeyong clean.

“Everyone leave?” asks Taeyong.    

“Yup!”

Taeyong and Sicheng don’t take long cleaning the apartment. They leave up the decorations because Sicheng claims, “They make the place nicer.” Taeyong doesn’t disagree, and since it’s more work to take them down he lets them be. Afterwards, Taeyong quickly goes to his room and brings out his laptop, putting it on the table in the living room.

“Come here,” he says. “I have a surprise for you.”

“You already gave me a present,” Sicheng proclaims, confused, but he heads to the couch anyway.

“This is another one. A different one.”

Sicheng perches his chin on Taeyong’s shoulder as the elder starts up his computer. He’s bony, but also comfy, and doesn’t mind Sicheng’s weight. He clicks around, presses a few icons, and murmurs to himself as the mouse shows it’s loading. It’s not until a green window opens with a plethora of Chinese text on the screen that Sicheng is interested. Sicheng leans closer to read it, and in the next moment a young, pixelated, round face pops up in the window.

“ _Sicheng ge!_ ”

The quality of the video is mediocre, but Sicheng can recognize that voice anywhere. He remembers years of it yelling his name, boasting about gold stars in class, telling him to push him on the swing, asking if it’s okay to hope for better tomorrows. He knows that voice so well because he helped raise the owner of it, changing diapers and soothing cries. The moment he hears that signature dolphin laugh, Sicheng’s native tongue returns to him like he’s never stopped using it.

“Zhong Chenle!” he cries, and Chenle’s blurry grin speaks volumes to Sicheng, who hasn’t seen him in months.

“ _Move! Let me talk to him! I can’t see!_ ”

 _That_ voice, just as familiar as Chenle’s. Renjun is all crooked teeth, hazel eyes, and— wow, scarlet hair. He bulldozes his way into the frame and sits next to Chenle, hanging an arm behind the other boy’s neck.

“Renjun! You’re there, too?”

“ _‘Course I am! It’s the orphanage! Where else would I be?_ ” Renjun laughs. “ _Kun ge dropped his laptop off earlier so we could see you on your birthday. We’ve been waiting since dinner for your call!_ ”

Sicheng glances at Taeyong, who’s laid down on the opposite end of the couch, watching the exchange with sleepy eyes. Taeyong doesn’t know Mandarin, but that doesn’t stop him from giving a thumbs up in response to Renjun. Sicheng feels his heart jump to his throat, and he urges Taeyong to take a short rest.

“So Kun ge came by?” Sicheng asks the kids on the screen, coming in and out of focus.

The boys nod. Chenle starts, “ _I wasn’t gonna say this while he was around, but he’s a giant weirdo. He wore mismatching socks_ and _sandals, and he introduced himself like he was from last century. Who does that?_ ”

“ _Anyway!_ ” Renjun exclaims, waving his palm in front of the camera. Chenle glares at him. “ _Happy birthday, ge! You’re old!_ ”

“Gee, thanks, you brat,” Sicheng says, fond. “How are you? The hair looks cool, by the way.”

Renjun fluffs his hair, proud, and begins, “ _I’m great, ge! And thanks for the compliment — one of the older girls helped me do it last week. School stresses me out, but this was a nice refresher. I’m not the worst, though, because Chenle is failing math—_ ”

“ _Shut up! I’m_ not _!_ ”

Sicheng snickers as he watches the boys squabble. He’s forgotten about their mischievousness, and the petty slap fight they attempt to insight is nothing short of pathetic — Sicheng snorts at Chenle’s offended expressions.

“ _Okay, Chenle’s_ not _failing math_ ,” Renjun amends, earning Chenle’s approval. “ _With that settled... I got chosen to represent the school in the district art exhibit!_ _Can you believe it? Me!_ ”

“Your art is wonderful, Renjun! I’d worry if you _didn’t_ get picked,” Sicheng says. Renjun is set on going to an art academy in two years, when he graduates high school. He has a gift for animation, crafting sketches and designs that Sicheng can only ever dream of creating.

“And, Chenle, how are you? Are you going on a lot of dates? Don’t smirk at me, kid! Focus on your schoolwork!”

“ _Ay, ge, there isn’t enough Chenle to satisfy_ everyone.” Renjun gags at the one-liner.

“Do you tell your teachers that,” Sicheng deadpans.

“ _He said it to the gym teacher once and had to run three extra laps_ ,” Renjun snorts. “ _What a dork_.” Chenle squeaks.

Sicheng sighs, “That’s why I say you should start dating _after_ you’re married.” Chenle and Renjun both sigh; at this point in life there’s no point of asking whether or not he’s serious.

They talk. Sicheng’s love for his language grows as he hears the accentuated syllables,  recognizes the plays on words. He loves hearing the kids tell him about their lives, as well as the lives of the other orphans, what’s happening to them. He never could’ve imagined missing Chenle recounting what he had to eat for lunch. The days of apple juice boxes are long behind him, it seems, as he’s upgraded to ice tea and lemonade. Renjun’s life is marginally more exciting, with art club shenanigans, which include an underclassman dunking his head in a bucket of silver paint “for the aesthetic.”

Sicheng doesn’t realize he’s crying until Chenle not so discreetly points it out. It makes him chuckle, oddly enough, and he feels Taeyong nudge him with his foot. It’s encouraging, to say the least, and he wipes at his eyes.

“I really— really miss you guys. Chenle. Renjun. Everyone.”

Sicheng hasn’t said it out loud until now, to anyone, and it’s like he’s broken down the dam and his emotions are finally flowing freely.

“I miss— I miss _China_. It’s so different here! The language, the people — everyone goes so _fast_ , and I can’t even keep up! Lots of things are scary and I get things wrong, but.” Sicheng takes a deep breath. “Tell Auntie and the other kids that I like Korea. I really, truly do. Tell them that I’m eating healthy, adjusting well, and I’ve made great friends.” He sniffles. “Don’t tell them I cried. I don’t cry.”

Renjun laughs, and Chenle flashes him a boyish grin. “ _Okay, ge_ ,” Chenle says. He bites his lip, and he loses his bravado as he adds, “ _We really miss you, too._ ”

Sicheng wishes that virtual hugs were actually a thing, but all he can do is nod his head and promise, “I’ll talk to you again, later.” The kids have school; Sicheng knows that they need sleep from all the yawning Renjun does off screen. Even with the mere hour difference they have, the boys have to get up early to get to the bus. Sicheng shakes Taeyong awake, to end the video call, as Renjun and Chenle wave goodbye.

“ _Bye, ge! Happy birthday! Call us again soon!_ ”

As the screen darkens, Sicheng feels... content. He sits still, taking in the whole conversation, what he’s said. He’d spoken more Mandarin in the last twenty minutes than in the last two months. He’d felt like he was _really_ himself again.

Sicheng looks at Taeyong, who’s about to nod off, and feels a rush of gratitude. Taeyong, once again, has done more than enough for him. He tackles Taeyong down on the couch with a hug, arms around his middle, burying his face in Taeyong’s neck. He smells like flowers, like lavender and lilies — that must be the Febreze, and Sicheng can’t believe how comforting the air freshener scent is.

“Thank you very much,” he babbles, trying to keep his composure but failing miserably. He tightens his hold and continues shakily, “So, so, so, so, so much. So much. Taeyong hyung is the best. The best of the best.”

Taeyong laughs, and Sicheng can feel the reverberation as he presses his ear against the agent’s chest. Sicheng can also hear Taeyong’s heart beating, like the bass drum of a drumline, right on the beat.

“I thought you’d be homesick,” Taeyong says quietly, smoothing Sicheng’s hair in place. “Since you can’t talk to them often, I put in a special request. Kun was happy to help me out.” He rubs Sicheng’s back. “You’re welcome.”

Sicheng sighs. Taeyong smells nice and he’s comfortable to lie on, body a degree colder than Sicheng’s, the perfect contrast. That’s not an idea he’s ready to explore at this very moment, so he stays in place and waits for Taeyong to get up.

Except he doesn’t, and neither does Sicheng, so they fall asleep on the couch, Sicheng half atop Taeyong, and wake up in the morning with stiff necks and a permanent blush on their cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“cushion” by sonamoo](https://youtu.be/FYqfHaAkplw) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p) / fun fact: this is probably my fav chapter of the whole fic :^)


	7. come to me, smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s go skiing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! the next chapters won't come out for a while bc i have exams and whatnot to study for!! sorry that this is taking so long!!! good news: the story is halfway over & this is a long chapter!!!!! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Sicheng has made it a habit to study in the library on campus. As the season bleeds into winter, the temperature drops and Sicheng’s human heater capabilities weaken. He likes to generate internal heat in the cozy space provided on the second floor of the library, with a small collection of couches and tables, while working on homework. It’s a great place for studying, especially when a librarian is bound to wake him up if he accidentally drools on his calculus notes.

Today Taeyong, Doyoung, and Taeil are all sitting at a square table with Sicheng. Taeil is typing an outline for speech. Doyoung is analyzing a song by K.Will for his music theory class. Taeyong isn’t doing anything, truthfully, leisurely resting his head on his bicep, doodling on Sicheng’s papers that get too close to him. Sicheng glares at him from across the table but doesn’t stop him — Taeyong’s doodles are harmless and juvenilely cute. If Sicheng’s professor comments on them, Sicheng will say his boyfriend got bored and decided to draw half of Noah’s Ark on his assignments.

Around four in the afternoon Jaehyun swings by, iced Americano in hand, and drags another chair over to the table. Sicheng looks up from his textbook and sees Jaehyun’s dimpled grin, fingers drumming on the tabletop, buzzing with energy.

“Let’s go skiing!”

He’s met with different levels of confusion, although Sicheng is at his highest as he asks, “What’s that?”

“New word alert,” Taeyong teases, lifting his index finger and circling the air like he’s making a grand announcement. Sicheng lightly kicks at him from under the table, sticking out his tongue.

“There’s snow, down a hill, and skis. Snowboards,” Taeil begins to explain, but the words fizzle out. “Uh. Someone, search it for him, this is hard.”

Jaehyun pulls up an article on his phone, showing Sicheng pictures of winter resorts and ski lodges.

“ _Oh_. I get it.” Sicheng shoots his hand across the air and says, tongue short, “Zyoom. Cold. Yeah?”

“Sicheng has such a way with words,” Doyoung muses. This time, Sicheng kicks him.

“Why skiing? I’m confused,” Taeyong says. “I’m not saying _no_ , but... why?”

Jaehyun perks up. “I saw this coupon for a ski hill, where you stay at a one night, two day lodge. Tickets got marked down ten-percent! Renting gear is normal price, but for the overnight stay it’d be cheap if we split the cost between a lot of people. The lodge is pretty big, so the more the merrier.”

“Johnny can come, if he doesn’t have work,” Taeil suggests. “Maybe Ten, too.”

“We could invite Hansol! And, um, his roommate,” Doyoung tacks on. “I think my little cousin — Donghyuck, you know him — and his best friend already have snowboarding gear, so maybe they’d want to come along.”

Taeyong looks at the faces around the table, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wait, so we’re doing this? No argument? That’s all it took?”

Taeil shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Sounds like a fun friends trip. FFT. You dig?” Jaehyun finger-guns at him, grinning, while Doyoung is appalled at the retro lingo.

Sicheng claps his hands happily. “Exciting!”

Jaehyun discusses his plan more in detail. The lodge they would be staying in is less than a mile from the slopes. Not only is the venue for skiing, but for snowboarding and even sledding, too. The date is the end of November, when the coupon expires, with a tentative weather schedule just above freezing — which, according to Jaehyun, is perfect. They get in contact with the others to determine availability.

Unfortunately, Johnny is busy with accounting things (“He’ll be in the Philippines,” Taeyong later whispers to Sicheng. “He’s hacking onto the mainframe of some sex trafficking communications tower. Tech stuff.”). Ten passes, not willing to fall on his ass a hundred times. Hansol is set to visit his hometown that weekend, but Yuta is down for the idea. Doyoung calls Donghyuck and asks if he wants to come, and after getting the okay from his mom he’s all good. Conveniently, his best friend (named Mark, Sicheng learns from overhearing) is with him at that moment and gets approval from his parents, too.

“Oh, the days of youth and asking for parental permission,” sighs Taeil, nostalgic. Taeyong snorts.

“That’s eight people, then?” says Jaehyun, counting on his fingers. Everyone nods — Sicheng also puts it in his graphing calculator to check. It’s eight. “Great! Let’s talk sleeping arrangements.”

Jaehyun goes straight into it, showing off the interior of the lodge on his phone. “There are three legit bedrooms, two normal and one master, and two couches. The master bedroom has its own bathroom upstairs, and the other one is in the hall downstairs. Two people per room, and two on the couches. Sound fair?”

Doyoung squeals, “Not it for couch!” Taeil recites the same.

“I’ll take it. I don’t mind,” says Taeyong.

“You don’t want a room with Sicheng?” Jaehyun asks, puzzled. Taeyong gives him a halfhearted shrug, which Jaehyun regards with interest.

“Strange,” Taeil murmurs.

“Strange?” Sicheng repeats. He knows the word, he just doesn’t know the context which Taeil is using it in.

Doyoung breaks it down for him since he’s just as baffled as Taeil and Jaehyun. “You guys are dating. _And_ living together. Why wouldn’t you share a room?”

Taeyong doesn’t have an immediate response to that, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “That’s... a valid point.”

“Do you have relationship issues?” Taeil asks lowly, like Sicheng isn’t right next to him and can understand every word he says. He’s Chinese, not _deaf_. “I give great love advice for a very low price. I charge one bag of Home Run Balls for every session.”

“No, no— I just.” Taeyong bites his lip and glances at Sicheng. “Yeah, I’ll share a room with Sicheng. We’re all good. Figure out who else is where later. Don’t worry about it. I’m cool.” His friends look at him funny, but Taeyong gets Awkward a lot so they don’t fret over his behavior.

Doyoung brings them back on topic. “Okay, food. We either are ordering takeout or cooking for ourselves. I vote ordering out. No one can really cook anything edible except for Taeyong hyung and Taeil hyung.” It’s sad but true, and everyone nods.

“Bring snacks,” adds Sicheng. “Lots of snacks!” Jaehyun, amused, makes note of that.

The group maps out the most of their trip: who’s driving with whom, what time they should leave, what necessities to pack. The individual cost isn’t outrageous, but it’ll make a significant dent in Sicheng’s wallet for sure.

Sicheng has never gone on a trip with friends, never had enough money to spare. He’s sure this will be quite the experience, well worth it.

——

Sicheng packs the same suitcase he’d brought to Korea to bring to the ski lodge. It’s before dawn, the sun not even in the sky yet, and it’s nearly an hour drive to the slopes. Taeyong triple checks to make sure the both of them have everything before jumping into Taeil’s car. Yuta is already snoring in the front seat, and Sicheng and Taeyong climb into the back seat to soon do the same. While Taeyong sits at the leftmost window seat, Sicheng settles in the middle so he can lean on Taeyong’s side for a cushion.

When Sicheng wakes, they’ve reached the lodge and are taking out their luggage. Well, Yuta is taking out all the luggage as Taeil fiddles with the radio, Taeyong still sleeping soundly beside him. From the window he can see the other car, Jaehyun doing the same as three others nap inside it. After everything is inside the lodge, a rustic building with wooden boards, the two cars start driving again, this time Sicheng gazing out the window at the passing scenery.

Lots of trees. Empty roads. Not that much snow. There’ll be fake snow at the slopes, Jaehyun had told them. Sicheng wonders how that works. A giant snowcone machine? Chemical synthesis of ice crystals? Fairy magic? He could easily search it on the Internet, but that ruins the fun in guessing. Fairy magic sounds the coolest.

At the slopes, Taeil’s car gets there quite a while after Jaehyun’s. The four of them waddle their way to the main building, looking around for the others. There is a bit of a crowd, but they spot Jaehyun’s blond head easily at the front desk. They get their gear rented — goggles, helmets, boots, skis or boards. Sicheng and Taeil go for skis; Yuta and Taeil get snowboards. Jaehyun leads them to the others on the other side of the building, where Doyoung is sitting on a bench, struggling to put on his boots. There are also two teens, all ready to go, playing a game of _cham-cham-cham_ and slapping wrists when they lose.

“Took you long enough,” huffs Doyoung, bumping Taeil’s shoulder when he sits. Yuta scoffs as he sits next to him, too.

The teens turn their heads at their arrival, stop their game, and rush over to Sicheng. Taeyong has to refrain from shielding his pretend boyfriend with his arm, wary of the hyperactive minors.

“Oh! New face! Hi, I’m Lee Donghyuck,” the cheeky, high-toned boy introduces brazenly. “Born, bred, and raised in the good ol’ R. of K. That’s Republic of Korea, FYI. That’s for your information, FYI. I heard you’re Chinese, so I’ll try keep it low with the acronyms. Doyoung hyung is related to me, which is tragic on my end, but a blessing for him.” He beams, getting close to Sicheng’s face. “Dude, you’re hella cute!”

The other boy, with feline eyes and a sharp grin, pulls his friend back and hits him upside the head. Donghyuck sputters and hits him right back. The squabble goes back and forth until the other boy pushes at Donghyuck’s face until he’s landed on the floor.

“Aw, geez. What’s up? I’m Mark Lee,” says the boy, straightening the goggles atop his beanie. He jerks a thumb at Donghyuck, who crosses his arms over his chest and refuses to get up. “I’m basically his overqualified babysitter. Nice meeting you, Sicheng... hyung?”

Sicheng can’t stop his overeager reply of, “Yes, I am the hyung. Sicheng hyung, that is me,” as he fervently shakes the boy’s hand, rattling him so hard he almost joins Donghyuck on the ground. Taeyong has to stop him by telling Sicheng to put on his gear like the rest of them, much to the teen’s amusement. Sicheng obeys, but he’s still giddy at the prospect of being called _hyung_. (Truth be told, he’s missed having authority over someone— _anyone_ agewise.)

Unlike Doyoung, Taeil has no trouble strapping on his snow boots. “I miss velcro,” he sighs, standing and inspecting his shoes. “Times were simpler when I used velcro. I was young. All I had to do in school was color. There was a designated naptime.” He sighs again, looking forlornly in the distance. “I miss naptime.”

“You sound like you’re eighty,” scoffs Donghyuck.

Taeil makes a face, hurt. He pinches Donghyuck’s cheek, hard. “You used to be so cute. Only up to my shoulder. You sang me the alphabet song. What happened?”

“He’s a teenager. He’s automatically rude and intolerable,” Doyoung grunts, finally getting his shoes on (after Yuta helps him, damn it). “Also, he’s an asshole by nature, but I digress.”

Donghyuck reminds Sicheng a little of Chenle. Eccentric, confident, a bit of a know-it-all. Everyone regards him with an exasperated resignation. Mark almost reminds him of Renjun, too, with a reserved demeanor that is nearly the opposite of the other boy. The main differences are that they can’t seem to stop bickering, whereas Renjun and Chenle always agreed with one another, and more obviously they’re Korean, not Chinese.

When everyone is wearing the proper equipment, they head out and towards the lift to the intermediate run. From Sicheng’s perspective it looks like an amusement park ride, a metal swing with a bar as a belt. The lift never stops. The riders just stand and fall back into the seats, securing the bar and riding it to the to the top — so fascinating! Sicheng ogles at the process, pointing it out to Taeyong, who chuckles and tells him how it works.

Jaehyun carries his snowboard under his arm, craning his neck back to see the top of the hill. “Is everyone ready to fling themselves down a mountain?” he says with a nervous laugh.

Mark says simply, “No, we have to ride the lift first, hyung.” His snowboard, personalized, has colorful graffiti letters and paint splatters all over it.

“And _then_ you get to fling yourself down a mountain,” Donghyuck adds. His board is designed with the keys of a piano, except the colors are inverted, black to white and white to black.

Doyoung stabs his pole into the ground, slumping. “Fantastic.”

“Sounds like a blast!” Yuta cheers, hoisting his snowboard high above his head.

The lifts can only hold two people per seat, so they have to split up. Jaehyun and Yuta go together, and so do Mark and Donghyuck. Because of their equipment, Sicheng can’t go with Taeyong and is instead seated with Doyoung. They get into positions and sit on the seat, the lift carrying them up. Taeyong and Taeil sit together on the seat after theirs.

Doyoung has never spent any one-on-one time with Sicheng, but he’s unpleasantly surprised.

“Please don’t rock the lift, Sicheng, I am way too young to die.”

Sicheng smiles and continues to swing his legs, making the lift tilt forward ever so slightly again. Doyoung blanches, knuckles turning white on the safety bar.

Ahead of them, Donghyuck yells, “You’re almost twenty-two, gramps! You don’t have much else to live for!”

“Lee Donghyuck, I did _not_ ask you!”

All of them eventually get off the lift at the top. It’s not as steep as Sicheng had anticipated, but it still looks intimidating. Lots of people are here, sledding or skiing or boarding, families or lone wolves having a good time. Mark and Donghyuck don’t wait for the others, promptly strapping on their boards and racing each other down the slope. Taeil takes the challenge for himself, after an instructor tells him how to stop, turn, and go. He gets on his snowboard and rides, falling a handful of times, but eventually maintaining a smooth run. The rest of them are proud of the eldest, and quickly get their lessons and attempt to follow suit.

Sicheng hasn’t gotten the hang of his equipment yet, shuffling with his skis, but it’s nice knowing he’s not the only one. There is a also Doyoung-shaped lump on the snow, legs and arms sprawled wide, creating an unforeseen and hazardous obstacle.

Taeyong maneuvers towards it and jabs at what appears to be a nose. “Doyoung, you didn’t pay to lie in the snow,” he deadpans.

“You can’t tell me what to do with my life.”

“Well, he’s got a point,” Jaehyun remarks, boarding past them. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the view, snow-capped pine trees and willowy clouds. He sends it to Johnny, hoping it’ll brighten his day.

Swiftly, Yuta boards to the Doyoung-lump and declares, “Sir, I am going to run you over.”

“Bet,” is Doyoung’s lackluster response, taking Yuta’s threat with a grain of salt. After feeling the end of Yuta’s snowboard connect briefly with his side he rolls over, scrambling up and screaming, “Holy shit, you were serious!?”

Cackling, Yuta rides away as Doyoung tries to chase after him, repeatedly falling to his knees in the endeavor.

“Come back here, you wet napkin!”

Sicheng continues his shuffling, watching his friends go down the slope. He’s envious; he can’t seem to get his feet to cooperate and do the same. Taeyong, as he sees him a bit farther down, is riding like a pro-snowboarder.

“How are you so good, hyung?” shouts Sicheng, pouting as he stabs his poles into the snow. Taeyong walks over, having taken off his board, and grins.

“I had a mission in the Himalayas when I was eighteen,” he confesses, quiet enough so no one else can hear. “Turns out it’s best to figure out how to ride down a snow slope _before_ jumping off a cliff. Human snowballs are not as fun as you would think.”

Sicheng’s pout remains on his face after the short anecdote. He gestures to his skis and says, “Help me.”

“Do you want me to hold onto you?” Taeyong asks, bemused.

“Yes.”

“That defeats the purpose of skiing, Sicheng.”

“ _Hyung_ ,” whines Sicheng. Wrinkling his nose, he drops onto his butt and sticks out his legs, the skis perpendicular to the slope. “Oof. Look at that. I fell.”

“You did that on purpose,” Taeyong chuckles, but Sicheng refuses to acknowledge the accusation. He sighs, strapping himself back to his board.

“Alright. Just this once.” Sicheng cheers. “But! On the next run, you’ll go down on your own. _Without_ my help.” Sicheng’s cheering fades, and he forms a petulant pout once again.

Sicheng gets led by the hand down the slope, going slowly at Taeyong’s side. When they make it to the bottom Sicheng waves his poles in the air in celebration, low-fiving Doyoung, who’s collapsed in a heap next to the fence. Taeyong says it’s not worth celebrating if he doesn’t do it alone, but Sicheng tells him he’s celebrating because they did it together. Taeyong doesn’t have a proper response to that, and they ride the lift (again, a mentally exhausted Doyoung with Sicheng) so Sicheng can try to ski down the mountain by himself.

He succeeds, getting a face full of padded jacket as Taeyong smushes him against his chest for a congratulatory hug.

——

The inside of the lodge is bright, toasty, and smells like the remnants of a campfire. It’s a two-story house, the furbishing like a western country home, patterned rugs and wood furniture. They had decided the sleeping arrangements before arriving: the master bedroom for Jaehyun and Doyoung, the normal bedrooms for Mark and Donghyuck, Taeyong and Sicheng, and the couches for Yuta and Taeil.

However, no one makes it into any of the bedrooms upon returning. Everyone hangs around in the living room or kitchen, their coats and snowpants haphazardly piled by the front door. All their gear is outside, in a shed, to be used again and returned tomorrow. It’s only seven o’clock, but most of them are drained from skiing/boarding all day.

“Who knew skiing would take up all your energy? I’m pooped,” Doyoung sighs, lying on the couch. He looks up at Taeil, in tip-top condition, stretching his arms relaxedly. “How are you still standing, hyung?”

“Sit-ups are life’s endorphins,” is Taeil’s wise reply. “In other words, regular exercise is good for you. I feel refreshed.”

“Endorphins,” Sicheng says. He’s sharing a bag of pretzels with Mark and Donghyuck, sitting at the dining room table. “What’s that?”

“Chemicals in your brain that make you feel good,” Jaehyun explains. Sicheng nods, stuffing another pretzel in his mouth.

Jaehyun takes a quick whiff of his shirt and grimaces. “Yo, who wants to shower first? We all smell like sweat, and it’s gonna start smelling like a gym in here if we don’t get clean soon.”

Doyoung and Yuta, who’s standing by the heater, both shoot their hands in the air. “Me!” they shout in unison, and then exchange stares.

“Separately,” Yuta affirms, while Doyoung turns bright red. “I’m confident with my body, but I’m not so keen on seeing Doyoung’s. He’s all skin and bones!”

Doyoung refrains from chucking a pillow at him. “Can I just say I’ve known Yuta for a month, a mere _thirty-one days_ , and he’s literally become the worst person I’ve ever met. Ever.” Yuta snickers as he grabs clothes from his duffel bag and heads to the nearest bathroom.

“That’s a great friendship you got going on there,” Donghyuck remarks, chewing loudly on a pretzel. “Ten out of ten. You’d make it in the yearbooks.”

“Oh, like you’re any better,” grumbles Doyoung, rolling off the couch. “You and Mark go at it like cat and dog.”

“We prefer lion and wolf,” Mark says, smiling. Without even looking, he holds up a hand and Donghyuck immediately high-fives him. “I’m the lion; he’s the wolf. It’s a mutual, give-and-take relationship. Very healthy.” Doyoung rolls his eyes as he goes to the master bathroom upstairs.

A while later, Sicheng looks between Mark and Donghyuck, engrossed in an unnecessarily competitive consonant game, and hums. “Are you dating?” he asks, frank, sticking a pretzel in his mouth.

The teens stop all movement and gape, shocked, at Sicheng, who continues to eat his pretzels like he hadn’t just questioned their whole Best-Bro-Friendship dynamic. Jaehyun balks, and Taeil appears intrigued at the question. Taeyong walks over to Sicheng and ruffles his hair.

“Babe, you can’t just ask them if they’re dating. It’s not polite.” Taeyong glances at the blushing teens and raises an eyebrow. “But are you? Now that it’s on the table...”

“Sicheng, Taeyong hyung! You two are the worst!” huffs Jaehyun. Mark and Donghyuck are thankful for the interjection. When Yuta and Doyoung finish with the bathrooms they bolt to shower, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

While they rotate in and out for the bathrooms, those who have already showered or are waiting watch the TV situated at the front of the living room. Yuta flips through the channels and settles on one that’s showing a singing competition. It must be a rerun; Donghyuck mouths along to the words while Jaehyun sighs, “such a shame” to contestants who haven’t even performed yet. Taeil swats at the both of them to keep quiet.

Couch potatoes are a good description for them, once clean, four of them squished on each sofa — Yuta, Jaehyun, Taeil, and Donghyuck; Taeyong, Sicheng, Mark, and Doyoung. Bags of chips and candy are passed around, courtesy of Doyoung’s parents’ credit card. They don’t make any move to change positions or do anything productive, bodies lethargic. Another hour passes by lazily, and Donghyuck ends up being the one to break the comfortable silence.

“Someone, order food. _Real_ food.” He lolls his head back. “I’ll _die_ if I don’t get proper nourishment soon. Dead at seventeen. I can already see the headlines. You’ll have to bury me under a snow bank.”

“We wouldn’t do that,” Taeil says, eyes trained on the TV screen. “If the snow melts someone will find your body, and then we’d be prime suspects for your murder case. Probable cause would surely escalate to beyond reasonable doubt. We’d be better off throwing you over a cliff or into a nearby body of water.”

Mark blinks at him. “That response was way too serious for me not to be mildly concerned, hyung.”

“That’s his charm, isn’t it,” sighs Taeyong. Sicheng nods, and Taeil laughs.

“Taeil hyung is pretty weird,” Yuta concurs, “but it’s cool. We’re all a bunch of misfits. Normal is overrated.” He says, then, at a faux-whisper, “Doyoung is _very_ normal.”

Doyoung sneers, “Oh my _god_.” Both Taeyong and Mark have to hold him back from kicking Yuta in the face. Yuta looks pleased — Sicheng thinks of that picture from the Internet of a cat smirking as a knife is pointed at its throat. Chenle had shown him it when he first learned how to use a computer.

Deciding via rock-paper-scissors, Sicheng is chosen to call for takeout. There is an obvious dilemma with that, but game rules are rules. He’s stuck clutching his cell phone and staring resolutely at the list of food Taeil has written for him. It doesn’t help that the handwriting is microscopic, practically the size of the ants that roam the floors when Sicheng drops cookie crumbs. Luckily, everyone helps him pronounce the words correctly, and it also lessens the stress when Doyoung gives the forewarning, “Our friend is Chinese and his Korean isn’t fluent, so please disregard any grammatical errors” to the worker who answers the call. The worker giggles.

It takes nearly twice as long as it normally should, but Sicheng successfully places the order. With the amount of food they ordered they expect the wait to be a half hour minimum, but it’s to their delight that the knock on the door comes fifteen minutes later. All of them pay separately for the exception of Doyoung, who pays for the teens’ order as a “good cousin” (with his parents’ credit card, so). Taeil and Jaehyun grab the boxes of food and set them in the living room.

Food tastes best when in good company, Sicheng thinks. Black bean noodles, fried chicken, and pizza, along with two liters of cola, all shared amongst one another. (There’s also a few mini tubs of ice cream sitting in the freezer for dessert.) The atmosphere reminds him of his birthday party. He gets to hear random stories and inside jokes that the group of friends have as they eat — Jaehyun meeting Johnny in a Starbucks bathroom, how Taeil broke Doyoung’s wrist with a kickboard, Taeyong learning the hard way that sugar is not an essential portion of the food pyramid.

Mark and Donghyuck talk a lot, too, so Sicheng learns a bit about them. Mark is in his last year of high school, Donghyuck a year younger, having met through mutual friends. Mark had been an awkward transfer student from Canada, so he had some trouble fitting in, but he clicked with Donghyuck, a student ambassador and representative of his class. They bonded over videogames, soccer, and trigonometry homework, despite opposing personalities — Mark is sentimental and perceptive while Donghyuck is passionate and simple. They enjoy hanging with the older bunch (aka Doyoung’s friends) as well as kids around their age. And they’re _not_ dating, Mark insists, but Sicheng isn’t entirely convinced, watching as Donghyuck meticulously picks out the green peppers from the pizza before handing it to Mark.

Sicheng is able to contribute to the conversation, familiarized enough with Korean now to do so. He talks about his life in China, the differences in culture, and what it was like growing up in an orphanage. No one had known that last part about him, apparently, which shocks them with curiosity. He notices that they’re not too forward with their questions, probably to avoid making him uncomfortable, so he just tells them everything — aside from the part where his biological father is a black market dealer, of course.

Sicheng has clipped memories of his mother before entering the orphanage. He remembers living in a small house far from the urban city, frollicking in fields of short grass that itched his knees. He remembers trying to catch a fish with his bare hands, how his mother gave him a little pail and how he managed to find tadpoles by the creek. He sculpted a vase, painted it the color of the sun. Good memories. (He’s glad he doesn’t remember when she left him at the orphanage.)

This isn’t a bad story, Sicheng constantly reiterates as he speaks, because half of them look like they’re about to burst into tears. Taeil, most noticeably, keeps sniffling as he gnaws on a chicken bone.

Sicheng’s orphanage is a nice place, in the heart of the city, with almost forty kids total living there at a time. It became his home, with friends and caretakers who were everything to him. Renjun and Chenle, several years younger than him, were the ones he grew closest to. He felt like a real older brother to them, still does, knowing the boys their whole lives. Even after “graduating” from the orphanage — which is what the kids say after orphans go to university — Sicheng made sure to visit them as often as possible.

Nobody can fully relate to Sicheng, but they share their own family stories, making him smile. Taeil’s younger sister is currently going through a _phase_ that has her tying her hair in high pigtails, chewing a whole pack of bubblegum at once, and wearing band-aids on her face for no reason. Mark has an older brother living in Vancouver, married with a son, who sends him “Canadian junk food care packages” every month. Doyoung’s older brother is an up and coming actor on the small screen, sometimes a hand model or virtual boyfriend (?), set to debut in movies late next year.

By ten o’clock, Sicheng is emotionally invested in the lives of meerkats residing in the prairie. Animal channel. With his knees drawn to his chest, he’s huddled next to Taeyong and eating tiny spoonfuls of green tea-flavored ice cream. Everyone else is focused intently on the rattlesnake that’s about to intrude on the meerkats’ den, harboring silent pleas for the rodent family to be safe.

“I’m gonna have to call this a night,” says Mark, getting to his feet. “Curfew.”

Donghyuck scoffs, “What the hell, Mark hyung? You’re such a goody-two shoes. I’m disgusted.” Mark rolls his eyes and hits Donghyuck’s knee as he heads to his room. Despite the teasing, Donghyuck gets up and follows him.

“I think we should all get some sleep, actually,” Jaehyun proclaims, checking the time. He yawns, which causes Yuta and Doyoung to yawn, too. “We’re running the slopes again tomorrow. Might as well replenish our energy.”

Taeil nods. “I agree.” He looks at his friends on the couches and bats his hand. “Get out of my room.” Yuta, who’s sleeping out here with him, playfully copies the gesture. While everyone reluctantly leaves, Taeil chirps, “And goodnight!”

Bringing his ice cream with him, Sicheng waddles his way to the bedroom with Taeyong at his heels. They have a normal room, with a queen-sized bed and a window with a view. Taeyong’s suitcase is next to Sicheng’s, under the window. Taeyong says he’ll go brush his teeth first, but he stops and stares at the bed. Sicheng is sitting in the center of it, cross-legged and eating his ice cream, and looks at him.

“So,” Taeyong starts slowly. He coughs. “How— How do you wanna do this? Sleeping. Uh, positioning.”

Sicheng looks the blankets and hums. He holds the spoon in his mouth and gets an idea.

“I want to be... big. I want to be—” Sicheng takes the spoon out of his mouth and points to it, grinning, “—this.”

Taeyong frowns, eyebrows pinched. He’s lived with Sicheng for months now, but sometimes Sicheng’s logic trying to name or explain something goes right over his head. It’s like a game of charades with him. Taeyong is usually sensible enough to figure it out in less than ten seconds, but this has him stumped.

“Spoon? Ice cream? No, it’s the spoon. A plastic spoon? No, it’s _just_ the spoon. Okay, how is spoon an answer? Spooning? That makes sense. Like, you want to—” Taeyong stops.

“Oh my God, you wanna be the big spoon.”

“Yes!” Sicheng gleefully claps his hand. “Big spoon!”

“Hey, okay. I’m not really sure that I can... be the little spoon,” Taeyong admits, scratching his neck. “I mean, it’s not that I _can’t_ , it’s just. I don’t see myself as a little spoon? Wow, never expected myself to say that.”

Sicheng pouts. He’s never been a big spoon before, but being the big spoon sounds so _nice_. And since Taeyong is a few centimeters shorter than Sicheng, he’d be the perfect little spoon for him!

After a short staredown with Taeyong, Sicheng is struck with another idea. A _great_ idea. He hops off the bed and rummages through his suitcase, searching intently. Taeyong peers over his shoulder, having no clue for what he’s doing. When Sicheng finds whatever he’s looking for, he turns around and pushes it into Taeyong’s hands.

A slip of paper, with Taeyong’s messy handwriting. Taeyong stares at it and then meets Sicheng’s eyes, shining with triumph.

“One wish!”

Taeyong can’t believe it. His jaw drops. “You seriously brought—” Sicheng folds his arms over his chest, nodding, and Taeyong shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow, I... I can’t say no, can I?”

“Nope.” Sicheng is immensely satisfied with Taeyong’s flustered expression.

“Fine,” he concedes, placing the paper on the bedside table. He takes out his toothbrush and goes out to the bathroom, mumbling, “This is hand holding all over again.”

As Taeyong washes up, Sicheng finishes his ice cream. He waits patiently for the elder to return before going to the bathroom to do the same. It would’ve been more typical had he shared the sink with Taeyong, but the bathroom itself is definitely not big enough to fit two people — Sicheng wouldn’t want to spit foam on Taeyong’s arm (again). He makes sure to say goodnight to the two in the living room, whisper it to the teens’ bedroom, and hang around the railing to yell it upstairs. When he comes back to the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him, Taeyong is climbing under the sheets and turning off the lights.

“You up for pillow talk?” Taeyong immediately slaps his hand over his mouth and stammers, “Um, no, I didn’t mean, not in _that_ way—”

Sicheng smiles. “What’s that mean?” he asks, innocent, sliding into bed.

Taeyong relaxes and drops his head on the pillow. “Oh, good. Yeah, no, don’t worry about it.” He pulls the blanket to Sicheng’s shoulder. Sicheng is quiet, too quiet, and Taeyong pokes his cheek.

“Anything troubling you, Sicheng?”

“Maybe.” Sicheng shrugs. He can see Taeyong frown.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Again, Sicheng shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Taeyong declares. Sicheng nods, and he holds open his arms. Taeyong sighs, but he turns around and lets Sicheng wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him against his chest, long legs tangling with Taeyong’s. Sicheng is warmer than ever.

Somehow, Taeyong still smells like Febreze. While his hair smells like the citrus shampoo everyone’s been using, his skin is touched with the subtle fragrance of flowers. It’s crisp, clean, almost like laundry fresh out of the dryer. Sicheng sighs.

“Past relationships,” he says, voice low, “weren’t fun.”

Taeyong places his hand on Sicheng’s clasped ones at his front, rubbing at the knuckles. He must have a hunch that Sicheng has been thinking about this, thinking for a long time. Ever since he asked last month, even.

“At your own pace, Sicheng. We have time.”

Sicheng takes a deep breath.

“I was... naive? I thought they liked me a lot. I was very wrong.

“My old girlfriend, I met in high school. She was a cheerleader, and we went to the movies. She told me I was a great dancer, that I was handsome, and brought me to all the sports games.” He pauses. “I found out after a month that she was using me to get back with her ex-boyfriend. He played basketball. When we broke up, she pretended I didn’t exist and acted like I was nothing to her.”

“How did you handle it?”

“I... was sad. I thought she was lying about everything she said.” Sicheng smiles bitterly. “And I ate a lot of ice cream. Good ice cream.”

Taeyong shifts, pulling Sicheng’s arms tighter around himself. “You’re a great dancer. You’re very handsome. You’re way better than some jock on the basketball team. She might not have meant it, but it’s all true,” he reassures, and Sicheng nods. “I’ll buy you all the ice cream in the world if someone breaks your heart like that again, god forbid.”

Sicheng giggles, more genuine this time. “Thank you, hyung.” He takes some more time before going on, breathing in Taeyong’s scent.

“My old boyfriend was... a snake. Yuta hyung taught me that word.” Taeyong snorts. “I confessed to him the last year of high school. He was in the same grade as me, and he would walk me back to the orphanage on rainy days. He accepted my confession, so we started dating. He was nice. I thought he was nice.

“I heard him, one day, talking with his parents. I was studying in his room. They asked him why would he want to have a boyfriend like me, an orphan, and his response... He said...”

Taeyong waits for him, patient. Sicheng exhales. He counts the seconds, putting the phrase together in Korean, unequivocally more difficult to say than the original Mandarin.

“He said, ‘Who else would learn to love a pitiful boy like that?’ And that was it.”

Taeyong flips around to pull Sicheng into his arms, to rest Sicheng’s head on his chest. Sicheng unconsciously shudders; he’s been trembling nervously since the start, but Taeyong’s hold is delicate. Gently, Taeyong presses his lips to Sicheng’s forehead, murmuring sweet words that lull his racing heart, fingers stroking his hair. It calms Sicheng, enough to rest his eyes and snuggle closer to Taeyong.

“Someone out there will love you,” Taeyong promises. “They’ll fall head over heels for Dong Sicheng, with his quirky personality and kindheartedness. Dong Sicheng, the Chinese orphan who has dreams of being a dancer. Dreams he’s already on the path of fulfilling. Someone out there, I’m sure of it.”

Sicheng wants to believe him.

——

Sicheng wakes up as the little spoon. He doesn’t really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“hug u” by wjsn](https://youtu.be/_Uqep7P6VFs) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p) / [yuta as the knife cat meme](http://i1.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/088/637/c67.jpg)


	8. hold on tight to my balloon-like heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll buy a gift for Taeyong, at least,” Yuta says. Sicheng nods. “Any ideas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have finished 2 out of 5 finals LMAO this is my reward to myself for not crying during either of them :''') in other words ive invested all my emotions into pd101 & am constantly Suffering

“Sicheng, sweetie, you’re doing a great job,” Doyoung assures, suppressing a grimace as Sicheng hangs yet another yellow ornament on a branch with four yellow ornaments, “but could you please spread out the colors? The tree is starting to resemble a traffic light.”

“It’s _our_ tree,” retorts Taeyong, on the ground, untangling an extension cord. He has the cord wrapped around his wrists like handcuffs, and Sicheng giggles. “Traffic light it up, babe. Whatever makes you happy.”

Doyoung put a hand on his hip and remarks flippantly, “You call me over, requesting my artistic vision, and _this_ is how you treat me? Unbelievable.”

Taeyong gives him a very clear _are you fucking kidding me_ look. “One, you invited yourself here. We had to let you in or the neighbors would’ve called to complain about the noise. That has literally happened before, I am shitting you not.”

“You are too loud, hyung,” says Sicheng, with zero sincerity. Doyoung balks while Taeyong nods.

“And two, had we been Taeil hyung or Jaehyun—” Taeyong directs the end of the extension cord at Doyoung, using it to emphasize his point, “—you know your ass would be freezing on the curb outside.” He narrows his eyes. “ _Eight a.m._ , Doyoung. On a _Sunday_. You’re a monster.”

“What? The early bird catches the worm.”

Taeyong pointedly rolls his eyes. “Sounds fake, but okay. Whatever lets you sleep at night.” He goes back to untangling the cord while Doyoung stares regrettably at the plastic pine tree that Sicheng is now decorating with red ornaments. It’s definitely a traffic light.

With less than a month until Christmas, Sicheng had asked Taeyong earlier in the week if they could set up Christmas decorations inside the apartment. He’s used to doing so at the orphanage, helping the kids hang their stockings and decorate the tree. Taeyong didn’t see why not. He brought out a few boxes from storage, filled with miscellaneous Christmas stuff, and left them sitting in the living room to be unpacked when the time permitted. This afternoon had been the original plan, before doing laundry, but Doyoung’s unexpected arrival moved up their schedule. The orange-haired male came by, bored, shivering in his overcoat and banging the door so harshly both of the friends had tumbled out of bed to answer it.

Sicheng enjoys Doyoung’s company and Taeyong, after a steaming mug of black coffee, tolerates it. Doyoung has been directing how to set the “feng shui” of the Christmas decorations around the apartment. From plush elf dolls to coal shards, he moves the decorative pieces mere millimeters to keep everything balanced. Taeyong likes things organized, don’t get him wrong, but Doyoung’s minute changes are unnoticable and frankly unnecessary.

The lazy bastard was of no help getting the Sicheng-sized plastic tree up, by the way, leaving Sicheng and Taeyong struggling to set it upright. Taeyong would rather he help him connect all the lights, but Sicheng says that Doyoung should do what he wants to do. Creative liberty, he says, and Taeyong has no idea how or why Sicheng knows that phrase. He blames Johnny.

Half an hour after Doyoung arrives, there’s a knock on the door again. More civilized than Doyoung had been, but Taeyong still doesn’t appreciate the unexpected visit. A call or text would’ve been mighty helpful.

“Who’s that _now_?”

Sicheng puts down an ornament and chirps, “I’ll get it!” He skips to the door and pulls it open.

Breaking into a wide grin, Sicheng says, “Oh, Yuta hyung! Come in!”

“What’s up, guys? I was in the area so I decided to pop by. I brought Chinese!” Yuta gallops inside and sets two plastic bags on the kitchen table. “Chinese _food_ , specifically. Help yourself!”

Taeyong, having beaten the tangled cords, wordlessly goes to Yuta and hugs him, patting his back and nodding. Yuta, without hesitation, returns the embrace, only mildly confused.

“Hiya, Taeyong. Didn’t peg you as a hugger. Good morning!”

Taeyong continues to nod. He turns to Doyoung, who’s tight-lipped, and then sighs heavily.

“Man, Doyoung, if you came with food and a good attitude like Yuta, I would like you, like, two-hundred times more than I do right now.”

“Aw, shucks, you’re making me blush,” Yuta giggles.

Sicheng laughs at Doyoung’s expression. It sort of looks like he wants to set Yuta on fire, which would only be concerning if he didn’t look at literally all of his friends like this at some point or another. Hell, Sicheng was at the receiving end of this look when they played Super Smash Bros. together. It’s hard to take seriously.

“This is war,” Doyoung mutters, squeezing a piece of coal so tight Sicheng fears it’ll turn into a diamond. “Who the hell says _shucks_? Isn’t he Japanese?” He scurries out of the way when Yuta comes within hearing range.

“Need help?” Yuta asks Sicheng, who’s resumed putting ornaments on the tree.

“Stockings! In the box. Hang, please.” Sicheng points across the room, and Yuta salutes.

“On it!”

While the foreigners decorate, Doyoung takes a seat in the kitchen with Taeyong, who’s taking the containers Yuta brought out of the bag. He pops an egg roll in his mouth, chewing happily, and offers one to Doyoung. Doyoung wrinkles his nose.

“I refuse to consume food provided by Nakamoto Yuta. It’s been sullied. Tainted.” He crosses his arms over his chest and slouches. “God, I hate him.”

Taeyong pulls out two pair of chopsticks and starts arranging two plates of food, giving one plate more meat than the other. “If you hate him so much, how come you know his full name? I don’t even know that.” He slurps up a lo mein noodle and smiles at Doyoung’s reddening ears. “Hey, would you mind hanging those lights while you’re brooding? Thanks.”

Glowering, Doyoung does as told. He staunchly refuses to accept the help Yuta offers — at first. He can’t hang lights without someone holding onto the chair he stands on and making sure he doesn’t fall and break his neck. Unfortunately, Yuta is the only one with hands available. Sicheng and Taeyong are too busy sharing breakfast and being cute, those traitors.

Yuta applauds every time Doyoung successfully hangs a light. Cheeks burning, Doyoung tells him to stop, which he does, but that doesn’t prevent Yuta from switching to joke-telling.

And, damn it, Doyoung _swears_ he doesn’t laugh.

——

The fall semester comes to a close quicker than Sicheng would care to admit. He studies hard for his final exams, with the help of late night coffee runs with Taeyong, and makes it through them with minimal anxiety. Final performances, although he knows he’s prepared for, give him more nervousness. His worries are quelled after he performs without a single mistake, the beat pounding in his ears as the applause roars. Everyone does their best on stage, and Sicheng especially enjoys Taeil, Doyoung, and Jaehyun’s acoustic medley.

When winter break starts, Sicheng doesn’t do much. His part-time job with Ms. Kwon is halted until spring semester, so he stays home and watches movies, calls the kids back in China, eats, learns more Korean, sleeps. Almost everyone living on campus gets ready to leave for home, too. Taeyong and Sicheng help their friends pack — in other words, Sicheng plays with a Rubik’s cube for an hour and Taeyong cleans. Taeil is the first to leave, followed by Doyoung and Jaehyun. Yuta is only staying two weeks in Japan, so he’s still on campus for now. He gets lonely, though, so Sicheng frequently invites him over to the apartment.

Today, the friends are sharing a blanket and watching an anime on the TV — kids with quirky superpowers in superhero high school, Yuta introduces. Taeyong has just started making dinner for three, which he says won’t be too complex, but Sicheng knows he wants to show off his skills for their guest. Yuta has never had Taeyong’s cooking before, so Sicheng excitedly tells him it’s the best there is. Yuta declares he’ll see for himself.

As they continue to watch the anime Sicheng slowly loses interest, the Korean subtitles too quick for him to keep up. Yuta adapts for conversation accordingly.

“Christmas is so soon! Can you believe it? It felt like just yesterday was Chuseok!”

“Yeah,” agrees Sicheng. He juts out his lower lip. “I don’t know what to buy... Not a lot of money.” He probably has enough to buy everyone a keychain. Or an eraser. Possibly snack coupons.

“You’ll get a gift for Taeyong, at least,” Yuta says. Sicheng nods. “Any ideas?”

“Food.” (Technically, this is Sicheng’s one and only idea.)

“That’s not romantic at all,” huffs Yuta, to which Sicheng frowns. “What about clothes? Jewelry? Edible lingerie? I know a guy.”

“Um, well...” Sicheng glances at the kitchen. “I... don’t know what hyung would like,” he admits quietly.

“You’re his _boyfriend_ ,” Yuta drawls, like that’s an answer in and of itself, and it makes Sicheng’s heart twinge. “I’m sure whatever you get him, he’ll love. You could get him a pair of socks and he’ll be over the moon. He seems sappy like that.”

“Taeyong hyung doesn’t need socks.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “It was hypothetical, Sicheng.”

“Oh.” Sicheng isn’t good at picking up on that sort of thing.

“You’re bumming me out, friend.”

Sicheng pouts. “I don’t know what to get Taeyong hyung!” He remembers that Taeyong is just in the other room, so he lowers his voice. “I— I want him to like it.”

“Hey, you don’t _have_ to listen to me. Maybe he’ll really like food! I don’t know.” Yuta shakes Sicheng by the shoulder. “Relax. As long as you put your heart in it, I promise he’ll enjoy it.”

Yuta’s advice is stuck in Sicheng’s mind for all of dinner. What to get Taeyong? A gift card? Fancy cologne? What would he like as a gift? A movie? What can Sicheng _do_ for him? Clean his room? Okay, not that. How can Sicheng—

“Sicheng, you gotta eat your vegetables, too. You can’t just push them off to the side and expect them to go away. They’re good for you! I cooked them just how you like it, with soy sauce and everything.”

Right. First things first, eat vegetables for Taeyong. And kick Yuta under the table for that smug smile, because he deserves it.

——

Sicheng doesn’t get the full idea until Christmas Eve and, like all his ideas, it’s a great one.

Taeyong wakes up around eleven o’clock on a normal day, wrapped in his sheets like a hibernating bear. Today, however, Sicheng barges in his room at ten and yells, “Wake up, hyung! You need to do something for me!” The outburst forces Taeyong to get up, brush his teeth, and stumble to the kitchen, where Sicheng is wearing an apron (backwards) and holding a familiar slip of paper.

Oh, boy.

“Two wish!” shouts Sicheng, brandishing the slip to Taeyong. He grins when Taeyong takes it and declares, “Cooking help.”

Taeyong glances at the counter, which has bags of flour, sugar, cartons of eggs, and other raw ingredients on it. Sicheng’s laptop is open to a food blog, pictures of cupcakes and cookies on the screen. The cursor is a floating donut.

“May I ask _why_ you’re cooking?”

Sicheng presses his index finger on his lips and winks. “Secret.”

“I mean. Okay, well. Guess that’s fair.” Taeyong sticks the paper in his pocket and walks towards Sicheng’s laptop. “Is this the recipe?” Sicheng nods.

Taeyong reads aloud, “ _Tasty, homemade, chocolate chip cookies_. Cookies?” He raises an eyebrow at Sicheng. “Are you planning on leaving them out for Santa?” Sicheng narrows his eyes, and Taeyong holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay — _secret_. What do you need help with?”

Sicheng holds onto a bowl. “This.” He points to the eggs. “Those.” He gestures to the oven. “That, too.” He goes back a step and circles his arms around the kitchen. “Here.”

“So... everything?” Taeyong says. Sicheng beams. “You’re really working me to the bone, aren’t you?” Sicheng puts an apron over his head, nodding.

The intentions of “two wish” are for Taeyong to teach Sicheng how to be competent in the kitchen. What really happens is Sicheng picking up an egg, staring at it, and tottering over to Taeyong to get him to crack it. Sicheng mostly observes Taeyong in his natural habitat, mixing together the cookie dough and chocolate chips like a real baker. Taeyong orders Sicheng around for the simple tasks: preheat the oven, oil the tray, shape the dough into balls. The ingredients Sicheng bought are enough to make two trays of cookies, more than he needs.

He and Taeyong place them in the oven, and even though Taeyong says he doesn’t need to, Sicheng crouches and watches the small window to see how they’re doing. Cookie watch. Taeyong says it’ll take at least eight minutes to bake, so he pulls up a dance performance video on Sicheng’s laptop to watch in the meantime, sitting at the kitchen table with an alarm on his phone.

Sicheng finds that watching cookies bake is like watching paint dry (but smells immensely better), so he joins Taeyong at the table to watch the video. Half the time he’s just glancing at the clock, counting down. When the alarm rings, he jumps to his feet. Taeyong chuckles and helps him check on the cookies. They’re finished, so they take them out to cool atop the stove.

“I’d call this a job well done.”

Sicheng claps. “Well done!”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what this is for?” asks Taeyong. Sicheng shakes his head, resolute. Taeyong shrugs. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Sicheng says. Taeyong reaches for a cookie, but Sicheng immediately slaps at his hand. “No eating.”

“Wait, I can’t even have _one_?” gasps Taeyong. “Sicheng, please.”

“No.”

“Cruel. That’s cruel.” Taeyong wipes his hands on his apron and purses his lips. “I’ll remember this.”

Sicheng laughs. He grips onto Taeyong’s arm and shakes him. “Let’s get lunch, hyung,” he says cutely. Taeyong looks pretty disinterested, but Sicheng gets through to him by exclaiming, “I’ll pay!”

Taeyong can’t hold a grudge for long, especially when it comes to Sicheng.

——

It’s not a white Christmas, but it’s a Seoul Christmas and Sicheng decides that’s just as satisfying. All his other Christmases were spent at the orphanage, the caretakers offering new toys and clothes to the children. Now he’s here, in a different country, with different people, with different values. Right when he wakes up, he calls the orphanage to wish them well and then sends a text to Kun. He sends messages to his school friends, too, in short Korean with cute emojis.

He has a reindeer headband, gifted by Doyoung before he headed home, and wears it as he trespasses into Taeyong’s room. The elder is swaddled in his blankets, fast asleep. Sicheng takes the opportunity to jump onto his body and hug him awake.

“You’re crushing me,” groans Taeyong. “My lungs. Air.”

Sicheng laughs.

Taeyong cracks an eye open. “Could you get off?”

“I could.”

“ _Will_ you get off?” Taeyong sighs.

“Eventually.” Sicheng is definitely having too much fun with this.

“I hate you,” Taeyong murmurs, but he doesn’t sound angry in the slightest.

“You don’t,” hums Sicheng, smiling, finally getting up. He tugs off Taeyong’s blanket, the elder whining at the loss of warmth, and flaps it energetically. “Come on, hyung! It’s Christmas! You have a present!”

Taeyong, more out of confusion than anything else, goes to the living room to see the tree. Sure enough, there is a large shopping bag and a colorful, large box underneath it. Sicheng sits near them, drumming his hands on his thighs, and waves for Taeyong to join him. Taeyong sits, slightly wary, and goes to grab the bag. Sicheng makes a noise of protest and shakes his head.

“No, not that one! That’s for the others.” Sicheng puts the box in Taeyong’s hands and bites back a grin. “ _This_ is yours.”

“From...?”

Sicheng exclaims, “Who else!”

Taeyong opens the box and sees a pristine envelope at the very top. It has his name in sticker letters, arranged in a rainbow pattern, with cartoon clouds and holographic stars surrounding it. He picks up the envelope and finds that underneath are four neat rows of cookies, in clear wrapping, with silver ribbon ties. Sicheng tells him to open the envelope, giddy, so Taeyong does.

Inside is a letter. Handwritten, on loose-leaf paper, with lots of scratch-outs, inkblots smeared at the margins. The heading gets Taeyong to smile.

_To Taeyong hyung,_

_Thank you for taking such good care of me. You are a great cook, great cleaner, great teacher, great listener, and an even greater friend. You give me so much to be thankful for!! You’re even better than the big guy in the suit!!! (I’m talking about Santa, by the way, but no offense to him!!!) That’s why I did my best to bake cookies for you to leave under the tree. I know you really like sweets too :^)_

_Well.... They’re basically_ _your_ _cookies.... It would have been better if I asked someone else to help, but hyung is the best baker I know :^) And I’m not just saying that because you cook meals for me!!!!! You really are!!!!!!!_

_Merry Christmas Taeyong hyung!!!! Let’s have a good year together!!!_

_p.s. I asked Jaehyun to help me write this. The payment is one cookie (it’s wrapped in the fridge!!!)_

_p.p.s. <3 _

When Taeyong finishes reading, he puts down the letter and says, “Wow.”

Sicheng fidgets with his fingers. “I got everyone else knick-knacks, but I wanted to give you something... different.” He peeks at Taeyong. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I—” Taeyong lets out a little laugh. He unwraps a cookie and takes a bite.  “Yeah.” He holds out the cookie for Sicheng to take a bite, too, and Sicheng eagerly does. “I didn’t get you anything, though. I feel bad.”

“That’s the fun in Christmas! We give because we want to,” Sicheng says, wiping away crumbs from his mouth. “Nothing to ask for in return.” Taeyong lets him have a whole cookie, which actually reminds him of something, causing him to stand.

“Wait, hyung, let’s go to the mall! It’s open, right? There’s a special at the pastry shop Yuta was talking about a few days ago. They have... What are they called? The baby cakes that look like seashells — madeleines! Let’s go!”

“So much for ‘nothing in return,’” Taeyong sighs, but he’s entirely fond as he carefully tucks away the letter and goes to find his coat. “Sicheng, don’t forget your wallet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“splash” by lovelyz](https://youtu.be/03-skiApfTw) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	9. dizzy dizzy (i’m drunk with you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate winter,” grumbles Taeyong, shivering. He’s sniffling, hands deep in his pockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG CHAPTER AHHHHHHH THANKS FOR STICKING AROUND AHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> pd101 is killing me fyi. ultimate favs are forever & always gonna be yoo hwiseung, yoon yongbin, ong seongwoo, kim samuel, lee daehwi, nu'est minus aron, and my Big Cube Sons (lua kuanlin + yoo seunho)

“Is this good?” Sicheng asks, inspecting the dark liquid in Taeyong’s glass. He sniffs it, sits back, and scrunches his nose. “Smells like old grapes.”

“That’s what wine is usually made of,” chuckles Taeyong. “Do you want some?” Hesitantly, Sicheng takes a tiny sip and smacks his lips, again scrunching his nose. “Guess it’s not your style.”

Sicheng cradles his mug of hot chocolate, two jumbo marshmallows floating on the surface. “This is more me,” he says, shrugging. Taeyong clinks cups with him and they both drink.

There’s less than ten minutes until the new year. The two are spending it in the comfort of their own apartment, warm and cozy. There are parties and raves all over Seoul, but Sicheng would rather be inside for New Year’s Eve, watching the TV play news segments with tipsy anchors and outlandish captions. Taeyong is thankful, mainly since he doesn’t want to deal with drunk crowds and blaringly loud EDM songs.

So Taeyong and Sicheng make their own celebration. Taeyong had opened a bottle of wine and poured himself half a glass. Sicheng, with Taeyong’s help, had gotten milk to boil on the stove and added it to a mug with instant hot chocolate mix. He’d added marshmallows and whipped cream, and the sweet and delicious taste warms Sicheng to the core. They’d grabbed blankets and pillows to make a fort on the couch, huddled underneath it, much like kids during a sleepover. Sicheng’s lettuce plushie, which he’s named Jiayou, is joining the fun, too, as they watch the countdown.

“ _Are you ready, Korea!? Hold high your red Solo cups! Your blue Solo cups! Your shot glasses! Your reading glasses! We’re about to be in the new year in five! Four! Three... two... one..._ ”

Sicheng leans over and kisses Taeyong on the cheek, a chaste press of the lips, the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Flashes of color on the screen, outside the windows, light and debris raining down from the explosions. Sicheng feels a spark settling on his tongue as he pulls back.

“Happy new year,” he whispers, eyes fixated on the bow of Taeyong’s lip because he can’t seem to look him in the eye. He swallows. “New year’s kiss. For luck.”

Flabbergasted, Taeyong breaks into a smile, hand lingering on his cheek. “Where’d you learn that from?”

“Dramas,” answers Sicheng, soft. He feels like there’s a flower growing inside him, blooming at the radiance that is Lee Taeyong, a strange sensation, _new_. Smiling, he glances at the screen. “Can we watch a movie, hyung? One of your favorites.”

“Sure thing.”

Taeyong turns on _Howl’s Moving Castle_. Sicheng loves the myriad of colors, the story of a cluttered heart and home, the symbols and meanings of fire and smoke Taeyong explains to him with gusto. He even reveals how he had a crush on Howl the first time he watched it, when he was in grade school. After the movie’s credits roll, he plays _Spirited Away_ , his second favorite — a tale about a girl, a bathhouse, and the spirit world. Sicheng really likes No Face, along with the all the eccentric minor characters. The giant baby reminds him of Doyoung.

Next, _Kiki’s Delivery Service_. It’s four a.m. when Taeyong turns it on, so it’s inevitable they fall asleep during the movie, the tune of a bright orchestral track flying them over the ocean.

Taeyong insists they watch it again in the morning.

——

When Taeyong and Sicheng step outside the supermarket, arms loaded with grocery bags, Sicheng gasps. Trees are frosted like icing on a cake; car windows are covered in a thin layer of white. It’s nothing like he’s ever seen before.

“Snow,” he marvels, slack-jawed. He sticks out his hand and observes as a single snowflake falls onto his palm. “Hyung, snow!”

Taeyong starts walking, the crunch loud underneath his boot. “Would you look at that? Christmas miracle, I guess.”

“I am looking. And Christmas was over a week ago,” Sicheng points out, eyebrow raised.

“You know what I mean,” Taeyong says gruffly. Sicheng snickers. “I miss the times when you could barely say a thing in Korean. You asked me how to say colors and shapes. All I get now is sass.”

They walk home, Sicheng kicking at the snow that blocks his path. In China, where he’s from, it snows but never as much as this. Sicheng has never seen snow pile to this extent, cold enough to pack. He tries to make a snowball, which ends up more like a snow clump, and throws it far. It hits the side of a building, narrowly missing a store window. Taeyong scolds him, which Sicheng is prepared for (with zero regret).

Back home, Sicheng helps Taeyong put away the groceries. Since it’s Sunday, there’s nothing to really do. As the time goes by, the snow continues to fall. Soon, it’s reached the height of Sicheng’s ankle. Taeyong lies on the couch as Sicheng sits by the window, fogging it with his heat, like a dog waiting for its owner to return home. There are kids playing outside, twirling and slipping on ice. A girl trips and makes a face-down snow angel.

Sicheng faces Taeyong. The look on the agent’s face is impassive, bored. It’s as if he’s not even affected by the gorgeous winter phenomenon that’s happening right outside! Sicheng runs to his room to find the slips of paper, hidden away in his sock drawer, and comes out to shove one into Taeyong’s hands.

“Hyung, three wish,” he proclaims, determined, and immediately Taeyong sighs. “Make a snowman!”

And, since it’s a wish, Taeyong can’t bear to deny him.

Donning their hats and gloves, Taeyong and Sicheng head to the nearest park to fulfill Sicheng’s wish. There are children, rolling snow, throwing handfuls of flakes in the air and watching them fall. Their parents are with them, helping them with fond smiles. There are mounds of snow everywhere, which is plenty to go around and play with.

“I hate winter,” grumbles Taeyong, shivering. He’s sniffling, hands deep in his pockets.

“Same,” Sicheng confesses. He collapses onto a snow bank and laughs, pulling a lax Taeyong down with him. “But I like snow!”

Building a snowman is hard work. Taeyong rolls the base while Sicheng goes to find stones and twigs for the face and arms respectively. It’s difficult trying to get the signature spherical shape, so Taeyong does a lot of sculpting. They get the snowman to have an ovalish figure, which is good enough for Sicheng. Taeyong isn’t satisfied, but that’s because he’s a perfectionist. Sicheng tells him every snowman is perfect in their own way.

The body and head combined are tall enough to reach Sicheng’s hip. He puts the the largest stones for the eyes and six smaller stones for its smile on the head. Sicheng sticks the twigs into the body, pointed high, and three medium-sized stones for buttons. When all is finished, he and Taeyong stand back, admiring their creation.

“What’s his name?” Taeyong asks. “Er, her name? Um. Got any gender preferences? Snowmen aren’t always men.”

Sicheng hums under his breath, thinking hard. “They? They. Their name is... Ace,” he declares. “Like the card.”

Taeyong nods, quirking his lips. “Welcome to the world, Ace. Happy birthday.”

“We’re your parents,” Sicheng beams. Taeyong lets out a short laugh.

“Technically, yes. We made you.”

“I am dad,” Sicheng declares, a decisive finger to his chest. Pointing to Taeyong, he adds happily, “He is also dad.”

Taeyong can’t conceal his baffled, wide grin.

Ace isn’t made to stand alone. Taeyong and Sicheng make three more snowmen: King, Queen, and Joker. King has a crown made of long twigs, Queen’s crown of small twigs and sharp stones. Joker has a jester’s hat constructed with auburn leaves. All of the snowmen are as nonbinary as Ace is, but Sicheng switches the gender pronouns as he sees fit. Taeyong teaches him how to say the word “genderfluid,” which gets Sicheng to smile.

Sicheng is certain Joker is his favorite. He’d dedicated a lot of time putting together the leaves for their hat. Personally, Taeyong is biased towards King; the shape of the snowballs came out most proportional. Even so, they love all the snowmen, which Sicheng aptly names “the card family” as a collective.

They take photos — selfies and landscape shots — and conclude that that’s enough snow play for the day. After Sicheng changes his phone background to the picture of him and Taeyong posing with the card family, they dust off their pants and head home.

Taeyong takes off one of his gloves, as does Sicheng, and holds Sicheng’s hand in his pocket to keep it warm. It’s not really working, but Sicheng won’t tell him that.

——

A few hours after snowman making, Taeyong gets a call from Johnny. Taeyong and Sicheng are sitting at the kitchen table, having a Korean lesson, sharing a plate of kimbap. Two mugs of hot chocolate are set, both filled with marshmallows and whipped cream. Sicheng writes in his study notebook, trying to work the differences between consonants and vowels. Taeyong answers his phone and sets it on the center of the table.

“ _Yoo-hoo! Happy first snowfall! What’re you up to?_ ”

“Warming up with hot chocolate. Teaching Sicheng Korean.” Sicheng waves, which causes Taeyong to snort. “You’re on speakerphone by the way. You?”

“ _The opposite! Jaehyun and I— No, use that stick over there. Yes, it is different! It’s the angle! The_ feel _! Don’t give me that look, Jung Yoonoh!_ ” Johnny laughs loudly. “ _Jaehyun and I are making a snowman!_ ”

Taeyong says, aloof, “Been there, done that.”

“The card family!” exclaims Sicheng. “We made _four_.”

“ _Geez, tough crowd_ ,” Johnny says. Taeyong can practically hear the unimpressed pout on his face. “ _Jaehyun and I are making_ one _snowman. His name is Jeffrey. He’s four feet tall and made of love. I’ll show pics later because he’s beautiful._ ”

Rolling his eyes, Taeyong asks, “What’s the call for, anyway? Are you really just bragging about your foreign snowman? You could’ve called Wendy noona for that. She’s from Canada and probably cares more.”

“ _Can’t a bro just take the time to talk about his beloved snowman with his beloved bro?_ ” Taeyong’s long silence is enough of an answer for Johnny, who huffs. He says something along the lines of “I’ll be back in a five minutes” to Jaehyun and uses a few seconds to walk off.

When Johnny speaks again, his voice is low and serious.

“ _Real talk. I need to give you an update on Sicheng’s status._ ”

The mood in the apartment turns dark. Sicheng stops writing, pen going still, and Taeyong’s expression hardens.

“Did the China division contact you?” Taeyong asks.

“ _Yup. I got a pretty lengthy call five minutes ago. Pretty official stuff_ ,” Johnny responds. “ _Do you want good news or bad news first?_ ”

“Good,” says Sicheng, “then bad.” Taeyong reaches for his hand across the table, and Sicheng grips it tightly.

“ _Well, good news is the agents found one of Sicheng’s father’s bases of operation. He has a total of three confirmed in China; the one they found is by a fishing market and dock. He’s more likely to come to that location in the summer, which is no good now, but the agents have a trail for the two other bases and are searching. Once the other bases are found, the agents can work to eliminate the threat on a direct level._

“ _In other words, there’s been a major breakthrough._ ”

Sicheng nods. That’s good. Yeah, that’s good. He swallows a lump in his throat and prepares for what’s next, tightening his hold on Taeyong’s hand.

“Bad news,” Taeyong says. “What’s the bad news?”

“ _The bad news, right. NCT China... was briefly hacked. We can only assume that it was the work of Sicheng’s father. Our agents are snooping too much in his businesses. They don’t like it. Our firewall was able to block them out before they could delve too deep into the system, but_ —”

Johnny has to take a deep breath before continuing.

“ _The files they’ve seen belong to Sicheng_.”

Sicheng’s heart sinks to his stomach. His nails are digging into Taeyong’s skin, sure to leave marks. He can’t help it, he’s just— He’s just. Just.

“Shit,” curses Taeyong. Sicheng bites his lip.

“ _Yeah, my thoughts exactly_.” Johnny sighs. “ _Look, there’s a silver lining in this. The only information they have is the fact that he’s the Big Boss’ son. They know nothing of prior background, whereabouts, or even photo identification._ ”

Taeyong scoffs, “So what? They’ll just sit around and do nothing with their new fun fact of the day? Bullshit.”

“Taeyong hyung,” Sicheng whispers. “I’m fine.” Taeyong doesn’t believe him, clearly, but he rubs his thumb over Sicheng’s knuckles and gives him as much comfort as he can offer.

“ _China division is taking all precautionary measures. Big Boss’ guys shouldn’t be able to figure out Sicheng’s location unless they pry it out of the system, which they can’t. Security, both physical and online, has been upped a hundred percent. All agents in China have been pulled out of the field until further notice. Headquarters told me all this so I can get to work on our systems in Seoul tomorrow. They don’t see it as large of a problem on your side of things_ —”

“My job is to _protect Sicheng_ ,” Taeyong grits out. Sicheng lays his forehead on their interlocked hands, exhaling. “How is this not a problem that concerns me?”

“ _Listen to me, Taeyong. Yeah, I_ get _that. But headquarters is looking at the big_ _picture: finding Sicheng’s father. They don’t see an imminent threat in this incident, and they let me translate this for you as a forewarning. You can come to headquarters for a better briefing, but I doubt this early in the development you’ll get anything worth hearing. Worse comes to worst, Sicheng has to go to another country, but again — I highly doubt it._ ”

Taeyong rubs his temple with his free hand. “Great. Fantastic. Exactly what we wanted to hear.”

“I’m safe now,” Sicheng says carefully, “right?”

“ _Safe as you’ve always been. Don’t you worry your cute little head, Sicheng. And, Taeyong, keep your handsome face from frowning. You’ll get wrinkles._ ”

Taeyong frowns even harder, miffed at Johnny being able to tell what he looks like without even seeing them. Sicheng pokes the space between his eyebrows, and his frown flips.

“Thank you for telling us, Johnny hyung,” Sicheng says to the phone.

“ _It’s my duty as an agent and a friend._ ”

“What does NCT expect me to do?” Taeyong asks, finally calming down enough to think rationally.

“ _Everything you already have been doing. Just like you said — protecting Sicheng. You’re a fantastic bodyguard._ ” Johnny is proud as he declares this, ending his sentence with a satisfied tut.

“ _Ah, I gotta go, guys. Jaehyun is tampering with my son. Talk to you at headquarters!_ ”

Johnny ends the call. Taeyong and Sicheng sit in silence, holding hands, until Sicheng abandons his Korean lesson and relocates to the couch. He turns on the TV and hugs a pillow close. _Hello Counselor_ is on.

Taeyong joins him not long after.

“That’s... something to think about,” he says, sitting down. “You okay?”

Sicheng nods. “Of course.” He puts his head on Taeyong’s shoulder, a comfortable position. “You’ll protect me, hyung. I know it.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

——

Parties aren’t Taeyong’s thing, but Sicheng convinces him to go to Ten’s “made it through two weeks of the spring semester” celebration at a club in the city. Friday night, at eight, open to all students on Ten’s Facebook friends list who are of legal drinking age. All their school friends are going — even Doyoung, who is firmly committed to his bed and Netflix on the weekends. Taeil is the most excited; the club is where he performs gigs every other night, and he’s never had an audience full of his peers aside from school performances.

Sicheng’s method of persuasion is not by using a wish (because that would be too easy) but a simple declaration of, “I want to drink.” Taeyong, knowing Sicheng has been abstinent all his life, not once touching recreational drugs or alcohol, has to play his role as Sicheng’s bodyguard and make sure he doesn’t “get shitfaced and/or kidnapped.” It’s not something he’s happy about, but it’s not like he can stop Sicheng from going — or drinking, for that matter. Taeyong is his bodyguard, not babysitter.

When Friday arrives, Sicheng debates over several clothing choices laid out on his bed. With some mixing and matching, he ends up picking a denim jacket, striped turtleneck, and dark jeans to wear. It’s definitely more dressed up than he usually goes for, and he marvels at his reflection in the mirror. For once in his life, Sicheng is _actually_ color coordinated! He proudly goes to show off the outfit to Taeyong, but he’s momentarily taken aback by _Taeyong’s_ outfit.

The agent is wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black leather pants that hug his legs just right. He has a silver necklace that dangles between his collarbones, and a matching chain hooked on his belt loops. Sicheng is used to Taeyong in training clothes or sweats, never _trying_ to look more attractive than he already is, so this look on him is really, really—

“Wow.”

Taeyong looks up and chuckles nervously. “Is this weird? Do I look weird?” He’s pulling on the end of his shirt like he wants to take it off. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No! Not at all,” assures Sicheng. He holds out a thumbs-up. “You look cool, hyung.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, tension releasing from his shoulders. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Taeyong gets a taxi. They ride for ten minutes, Sicheng bouncing his knee in anticipation. When they arrive, they see a line of people waiting to get in. The club is illuminated purple, the shining name _Hexagon_ in neon lights at its front. Taeyong walks straight to the bouncer at the door, and after they show their IDs, Taeyong tells him they’re with Ten. The bouncer smirks and lets them pass.

 _Clubs are loud_ , is Sicheng’s first mindless observation. The music is deafening, a combination of live and mixed tracks. With a DJ behind him, Taeil is on the stage hitting notes three octaves higher than Johnny’s height. He’s great, but Sicheng prefers the soft ballads he sings during school performances; the music is so piercing, Sicheng can barely hear Taeyong talk next to him. It’s better once they get to a spacious booth, a considerable distance from the dance floor, where Hansol, Yuta, and Doyoung are already sitting.

Taeyong takes it upon himself to buy a second round for the group already here. Doyoung orders a piña colada with extra rum, Hansol a beer, and Yuta a whole bottle of soju. Sicheng’s first taste of alcohol is a shot from Yuta’s bottle, which goes smoothly down his throat, resembling liquid fire. So he lets Yuta pour him another. And then he slurps Doyoung’s piña colada. Taeyong watches with trepidation, but Sicheng tells him he feels great!

(Well.)

An unknown amount of time later, Jaehyun slides into the booth and sits next to Hansol. “Has Sicheng ever been drunk before?” he asks, almost amused, tipping back his Long Island iced tea.

“Not that I’m aware,” Taeyong says tentatively. He scrutinizes Sicheng as the Chinese male tries to take three soju shots at once, catching him by the wrist. “Whoa, baby, slow down. The drinks aren’t going anywhere. One’s enough.”

Sicheng pouts, dropping his chin on the table and glaring at Taeyong. This goes on for a full minute, somehow, until someone tells Taeyong to do something about it. Taeyong sighs and pets Sicheng’s head, combing his fingers through his hair. It gets Sicheng to smile, content, and he stretches his arms out like a cat waking from a midday nap. He spills two shot glasses in the process, which again makes Taeyong sigh. Hansol wipes the mess with napkins.

“That is cute!” laughs a chirpy voice coming towards them. It comes from a male, with glittery eyeshadow and winged eyeliner, wearing distressed jeans and a sequined jacket. He’s holding a drained bottle of blueberry soju, which Doyoung grimaces at. Sicheng can recognize him as Ten, the host of the party, from the slight accent on his words. He’s Thai, as Sicheng remembers Taeil telling him, and has been in Korea for almost two years. The way he talks is more formal than anyone Sicheng’s met before, even Kun.

“Are you guys a couple?” Ten asks, pointing between Taeyong and Sicheng. He leans on the side of the booth and pokes Jaehyun’s cheek.

“Yeah. Almost... six months,” Taeyong says, and Sicheng nods. (Their fake-relationship is how long they’ve known one another plus one, which Sicheng has to constantly remind himself. It’s a weird number.)

Jaehyun whistles. “Half a year. Wow. I’m impressed, Taeyong hyung. You were able to find such a good guy and you haven’t even scared him off. I remember the day we accidentally met him and didn’t even believe he was your boyfriend!” He laughs, and then sighs, drinking his tea. “Good times.”

“Fuck you,” barks Taeyong. Jaehyun sends finger-hearts his way.

Ten says, “It is truly a shame. Everyone crushes on Lee Taeyong at some point of their life. I was one of them, forever ago, when I was young and impressionable. Taeyong in a relationship could have been the end of the world for little ol’ me, but seeing you together—” He grins broadly, and it brightens his face to look like a privileged schoolboy. “You look so perfect! It has me feel at peace.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says. He furrows his eyebrows. “I think.”

“They’re literally the most sickeningly cute couple to exist,” Yuta proclaims, lips downturned.

“Thanks!” exclaims Sicheng. He winks at Yuta. “You are also cute. But I have a boyfriend, so I do not mean that in a romantic way. Nothing personal. It’s me, not you.”

Everyone at the booth laughs, Yuta stressing over whether to feel complimented or insulted. He settles for both.

“We should let Sicheng get drunk more often. He’s funny,” Jaehyun laughs.

“He’s something, alright,” Doyoung says, snickering. He looks extremely pleased at Yuta being knocked down by drunk Sicheng, that’s for sure.

Sicheng jumps to the dance floor after he runs out of drinks (well, when Taeyong refuses to buy him more). He’s joined by Hansol, Ten, and Doyoung, as well as Taeyong by default. Sicheng’s body follows the beat, rides the rhythm, because music pulses through his veins like lifeblood. All of them are dance majors aside from Doyoung, so the hype is real. Hansol spreads the crowd enough to do windmills, and Ten does this scary flip-in-a-half that makes Sicheng scream. Taeyong pops and locks, getting shy when people stop and stare.

Having the time of his life, Sicheng decides he wants to play secret agent. He somersaults and aims a finger gun, closing one eye for accuracy. His first target is the b-boying Hansol. He pulls the trigger and yells, “Bam!”

“Ack! I’ve been hit,” yelps Hansol, playing along, falling backwards.

Sicheng grins and moves to his next target: the illustrious Ten.

“Bam!”

“Good heavens! He got me! Right in the leg!” shouts Ten. He places his hands on his cheeks, distraught. “How will I ever dance again? The horror!”

“I can’t believe you’re encouraging him,” Doyoung chortles. Ten and Hansol grin, shrug, and high-five.

Sicheng goes to his final target, the devilishly handsome and trained Taeyong. He rolls towards Taeyong, gun pointed, and shouts, “Bam!” Taeyong doesn’t move, raising an eyebrow, and Sicheng frowns. “Hyung, _bam_. I shot you.”

Taeyong pulls Sicheng up by the hand. “I’m bulletproof,” he declares coolly, letting Sicheng wrap his arms around his neck and fall bonelessly into his chest. “Okay, that’s enough dancing for you. Back to the booth.”

Sicheng is practically carried to the booth by Taeyong. They’re welcomed by Jaehyun, Yuta, and Taeil, who’s just finished singing for the night, drenched in a layer of sweat. Sicheng leans against Taeyong, feeling groggy, and lets the conversation go in one ear and out the other. Doyoung, Hansol, and Ten return after a while, squeezing into the booth with the rest. There’s barely any room for the eight of them; Ten sits on Taeil’s lap and Doyoung has to get unreasonable close to Yuta. Yuta wraps his arm around Doyoung’s shoulders to “save space,” effectively causing Doyoung to sputter.

Ten is in the middle of animatedly retelling how he found a raccoon in Taeil’s bed when all of a sudden Sicheng starts crying, hands feebly wiping at his tear-stained cheeks.

“Whoa, what’s wrong with him?” Taeil asks, worried.

“I— I dunno,” Taeyong stammers. Sicheng cries even louder. “Babe, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

Sicheng wails, “Pandas are _so cute_. Like, they’re so soft and lazy and fat and sleepy. They’re black and white, and— You know what else is black and white? A penguin. Penguins are adorable, they come in all shapes and sizes, but they get _eaten_ by polar bears. The polar bears are giant bullies! But— But they have to do that to _survive_ , that’s the circle of life, but you know what? They’re all going to _die_. Because of climate change! The icecaps are melting! Sea levels are rising! The polar bears will die, the penguins will die, the pandas will die, _we_ ’ll die, and then the earth will perish. And then there won’t be any more ice cream, and then we can’t go on any more ice cream dates, and that’s just so _sad_.”

Sicheng continues crying helplessly into Taeyong’s shirt, nose running and snot getting on Taeyong’s sleeve. He does not realize he’d said his whole environmental awareness spiel in Mandarin, so no one understood a single word of it and have absolutely no clue how to placate him.

It doesn’t stop Taeyong from trying.

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re saying, but I’ll pretend for a second that I do. Okay? It’ll be okay, Sicheng. Look at me. You’re okay.” He lifts Sicheng’s face up and makes him blow his nose into a napkin. Wiping away Sicheng’s tears with his thumbs, Taeyong smiles. “There. All better?”

Nodding, Sicheng sniffles. “Better,” he says, voice wobbly.

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” groans Hansol.

“Come on, it wasn’t _that_ cheesy. I think it was pretty romantic,” Yuta says, but he pales when Hansol rushes out of the booth, hand covering his mouth. “Shit, he actually needs to puke.” He hurriedly follows his roommate to make sure he doesn’t stumble into the wrong bathroom.

“I think that, this— everything, honestly, is our cue to head out,” Taeyong announces, polite as ever, getting out of the booth with an arm around Sicheng’s waist. “Thanks for inviting us, Ten. It was, uh, fun.”

“Yes! I am so glad you could come!” Ten exclaims eagerly. As they head out, he shouts, “Invite me to your wedding! I will have the steak — no plus one!” Taeil rolls his eyes.

Late January means brisk nights, temperatures not quite freezing but close. Taeyong keeps his arm around Sicheng as they go to the street to call for a taxi. Once they get one, Taeyong relays their address to the driver as he lets Sicheng inside first. Sicheng wants to take a power nap, but Taeyong tells him he can’t or it’ll make him feel sick. It makes him pout, but Taeyong makes up for it by letting Sicheng hold his hand and lay his head on his shoulder. He whispers a Korean folktale about the tiger and the persimmon, mouth pressed to the side of Sicheng’s head, and it gets Sicheng to laugh.

Due to an accident on the road, the taxi drops them off a few blocks from their apartment. Taeyong is skeptical about Sicheng’s ability to walk straight, but Sicheng insists he’s _fine_. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Taeyong lets Sicheng walk by himself.

Sicheng gets about three meters before slowly sinking to the ground, legs transforming into jelly, and throwing up in a bush. Poor, poor bush.

Taeyong doesn’t say _I told you so_ , but Sicheng is seriously getting that vibe from him. He comfortingly rubs Sicheng’s back until he’s done emptying the contents of his stomach and chides, “Geez, Sicheng. I got scared someone poisoned you. Don’t worry me like that.”

Sicheng frowns. “Poison?” he croaks. “Who would do that?” Taeyong lets him climb on his back, Sicheng gratefully accepting the piggyback ride and nuzzling into Taeyong’s neck. (It’s an odd fit, since Sicheng is slightly taller than Taeyong, but it works.)

“Bad people,” answers Taeyong.

Sicheng blows a raspberry. “Like the Evil Queen. She doesn’t want me to marry the prince. Evil.”

Taeyong chuckles, “Exactly.”

“How about Yubaba? She’s mean and takes Chihiro’s name. She’s bad, right?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right.”

“The Wicked Witch of the West! She has flying monkeys and is green. Not that all green people are bad, but she is. Yeah?”

“I guess you could say so.”

“How about...” Sicheng is tired. He’s tired and wonders, “Bad people like my father?”

That makes Taeyong go silent, and Sicheng can feel the tensing of his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he says, after a few seconds. “Him, too.”

The moon is like a giant pie in space. Sicheng wonders if aliens live up there. On the moon. Everyone can see the moon, but no one has ever seen the dark side of it. It’s mysterious, according to _Mulan_. If humans are afraid of the dark, maybe aliens are afraid of the light. Would the alien version of nightlights be night-darks? Day-darks? Dark-darks?

Sicheng can almost see the apartment complex. He’s sad again, but he can’t pinpoint why. Certainly not about climate change.

“Hyung,” he starts, quiet. “What does my dad do? Do you know?”

“Black market dealer. Kun must’ve told you.”

“Yeah, but— but what does that _mean_?” Sicheng shifts in Taeyong’s hold. “Does he sell drugs? Guns? Has he killed someone? A lot of someones?”

“When did your Korean get so good?” Taeyong asks, but it’s a diversion tactic. Sicheng pinches his ear.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Taeyong says, making Sicheng deflate.

(But.)

“Not in the open, Sicheng. Let’s get back home first.”

Inside the apartment, Taeyong helps Sicheng get cleaned up and changed into pajamas. He makes him drink a whole glass of water, too, after Sicheng brushes his teeth. Sicheng wonders why Taeyong doesn’t get water for himself, and then realizes he hadn’t seen Taeyong take a sip of alcohol the whole night. Huh.

Tucking Sicheng in, Taeyong takes a seat at Sicheng’s bedside. Sicheng grips the edge of the blanket, staring expectantly at him. Taeyong rubs his face and sighs.

“His name is Dong Liwei. Your father.”

It gives Sicheng chills. “Liwei,” he echoes, and it feels _real_.

“He’s been in the business for as long as I can remember, and NCT’s been chasing him from the moment they discovered his existence. Liwei has his foot in everything: drugs, guns, prostitution, human trafficking, contract killing, loan collecting, and... Yeah, you get it.”

“Scary.”

Taeyong nods. “Liwei has a lot of people, too. Followers, workers, goons — whatever you want to call them.”

“Goons,” says Sicheng. He tightens his hold on the blanket. “Call them goons. I like that word.”

Smiling weakly, Taeyong continues, “His goons are rarely trained operatives like me and Kun are. Some if not most of them are kids off the street. People who need easy money to feed themselves and their family — or, well, get their hookups.” He scratches his neck. “It isn’t safe for them to be in this business and not know the implications of their actions. Liwei is too powerful for his own good, so he can throw money and goods and lives around like nothing.”

“What’ll happen if you— NCT catches him?” asks Sicheng. “What’ll happen to his stuff?”

“Most of it will go away. We won’t be able to disintegrate his assets all at once, but with Liwei eliminated as a threat, NCT can work on it more safely.”

Sicheng hums. “I wonder how my mom met him,” he says. “I wonder how I was born.” He squeezes his eyes as his vision starts to get fuzzy, rubbing his head. “Ah, it hurts.”

“Go to sleep, Sicheng. You’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.” Taeyong stands.

“Mm,” Sicheng says, snuggling under the blanket. “Night-night, hyung.”

Taeyong places a chaste kiss on Sicheng’s forehead and whispers, “Sweet dreams, baby.” He turns off the lights and walks out the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“touch” by a.cian](https://youtu.be/c30PDzrKgBI) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	10. tap the galaxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung chokes on his Red Bull, Taeyong drops his jaw, and Sicheng holds his cheeks, gasping, “Oh my goodness!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry for the Sad

“Valentine’s Day is next week,” muses Taeil, flipping through his psychology textbook. It gets mostly everyone’s attention as they pause their studying. None of them has said anything since they’ve all settled at their spot in the library, and they may’ve forgotten to be social had Taeil not said anything.

“Any exciting plans?” he asks to no one in particular.

Lounging on the couch, notes on his lap, Doyoung says, “Jaehyun and I are painfully single. Sicheng and Taeyong are an old married couple — boring, cute, and never go outside. So no, no plans.”

Next to him Taeyong raises his hand, ready to protest, but he halts as Sicheng, at the table, shushes him. _No need to add fuel to the fire_ , Sicheng attempts to communicate with his eyes. _Also, you’re slouching._

Taeyong retracts his arm and straightens his back.

Doyoung tuts, “See? He can’t even argue because it’s true. He’s whipped.” Jaehyun, next to Sicheng, snickers.

“There are three birthdays around this time: Doyoung, Johnny, and Jaehyun,” Taeil says to Sicheng. “We normally spend a day all together, if we’re free, before V-Day to celebrate.”

“We did laser tag last time,” Taeyong adds. “I mean, we can’t do that again. Doyoung is still banned.” He winces at the memory — it must not be a good one.

“Let’s skip that this year,” Jaehyun announces suddenly.

Doyoung frowns, expression hurt. “What? Why? I wanted to go to Namsan Tower.”

Jaehyun shrugs as he erases his math work, which was just the problem number and question. “Not really feeling it,” he says. “I think I’ve outgrown the whole arrangement. Collaborative birthdays.”

“You can’t be serious,” huffs Taeyong. “Just last week you were up ‘til two a.m. playing Animal Crossing. Don’t try to sell us on you ‘outgrowing’ things.”

“There is no age limit for fun,” retorts Jaehyun, cheeks tinted pink. Taeyong rolls his eyes. He himself is part of the Doesn’t-Act-His-Own-Age club, assigned the unofficial leader; he’s not letting Jaehyun escape.

“Actually, our Jaehyun is busy. He has a hot date,” Taeil butts in, ignoring Jaehyun’s wide-eyed glower as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Before Jaehyun can jump across the table and strangle him Taeil sings, “With _Johnny_.”

Doyoung chokes on his Red Bull, Taeyong drops his jaw, and Sicheng holds his cheeks, gasping, “Oh my goodness!”

“You horny dog!” screeches Doyoung, and Jaehyun flushes.

“S-Shut up! It’s not like that! We’re doing a birthday thing together a few days before mine. I don’t want to do it twice,” defends Jaehyun, furiously erasing his already erased homework. “Don’t make it weird. Please. I don’t like him like that.”

“Oh, really?” Doyoung croons. “So why didn’t you invite _me_?”

“You’re loud and obnoxious,” Jaehyun retorts, throwing a pencil at him. Doyoung deflects it before it can stab him in the eye. “Also! You’re visiting your brother that day. The Friday before Valentine’s. We were _conscientious_.”

Doyoung purses his lips. “Fair enough.” (Sicheng notes that he doesn’t refute the “loud and obnoxious” part.)

“So what’re you gonna do? On you not-date with Johnny?” asks Taeyong.

“That information is classified until I’m sure no one will tease me.”

Taeil faux-whispers, “To dinner. And then the movies.”

Jaehyun slides off his seat and crawls under the table, groaning, “Taeil hyung, for Pete’s sake, I thought I could _trust_ you.”

“Is he gonna walk you to your door, too?” teases Doyoung. He leans towards Taeyong, snickering, “Is a kiss on the first date an overkill?”

“Well, I like it,” giggles Sicheng. He sends a flying kiss to Taeyong, who catches it and sends one right back.

Doyoung mutters, “Gross,” and makes the cross sign with his fingers at Taeyong like it’ll ward off cootie demons.

“I thought we were cute,” Sicheng says, confused. “You said we were cute, hyung.” He can feel Jaehyun consolingly pat his shoe under the table.

“Yeah, but now it’s gross. You’re wounding my pride as a gay single man.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “By being in a healthy, supportive relationship?” Doyoung nods. “Your head is on backwards. I don’t get you.”

“I’m bitter and lonely, sue me.”

Taeil interjects, “That’s not something you’d ever go to court for. Unless you commit a crime because of your bitterness and loneliness, then that’s a different story.” He taps the end of his pencil on his lip. “We call that a motive.”

“Who is this ‘we,’” Jaehyun deadpans, peeking up at Taeil, eyes narrowed, to which Taeil sticks out his tongue and winks. “That’s not a real answer.”

“All I know is,” Doyoung begins, heated, “if Taeyong, Johnny, _and_ Jaehyun all have dates for Valentine’s Day, the world is surely coming to an end. What kind of sick god would make Taeil and me the last single men in our friend group?”

“Actually—”

“Please, Taeil hyung, don’t do this to me. Don’t. It’s raising my blood pressure.”

Apparently, Taeil has an amusement park date with Ten, but Doyoung can’t hear him as he hums to “Be My Baby” with his ears firmly plugged with his fingers.

——

On Saturdays, at NCT headquarters, Sicheng becomes a regular guest. Joohyun has his pass ready before he even enters the building, and the office workers love saying hi. Sicheng has stayed on the office level long enough to know everyone’s names, too. One time, while Taeyong was in a meeting, Sicheng hung out with Joohyun for an hour and learned how to manage a spreadsheet. It wasn’t fun, but Sicheng can’t say that to Joohyun’s face.

Underground, Sicheng learns to map out the maze of halls and rooms. Taeyong lets him explore often, because NCT headquarters is safe from any threats or dangers and doesn’t see a downside in doing so. Sicheng goes swimming in the pool, plays League of Legends in the computer rooms, and visits other agents’ personal rooms. Johnny and Taeyong’s rooms are pretty standard, so Sicheng also meets with Wendy and Seulgi from time to time. The two are female agents that are frequently out of the country, the former in the Americas and the latter in Japan, but Sicheng has been able to get to know them when they’re at headquarters.

Seulgi had acted like an older sister to Sicheng during their first meeting, feeding him snacks and fixing his out of place hairs as he’d explored her room. It’s chic, designed like a millennial art studio, a couple teddy bears on shelves for decoration. Out of all the agents, her workspace is the most professional looking. Even Taeyong had conceded and said that her room is half a star above his own.

Wendy, on the other hand, had acted like a same-age friend at Sicheng’s introduction, despite being three years older. She pulled him under her arm and gave him a fiery noogie, promising to teach him how to dress better. Her room has vases of flowers and other foliage, which she or Johnny, when she’s not there, waters daily. When the first flower of the bunch blooms, Wendy makes sure to leave it on Joohyun’s desk first thing in the morning. When Sicheng had asked why, she said, “I’m courting her,” ruby red lips stretched into a playful grin, twirling a rose under her nose. Sicheng appreciated the answer, though he still has no clue what that means and feels it’s too late to ask again.

Today is a lazy day for Sicheng, but not necessarily in a bad way. The female agents are absent and almost all the rooms underground are closed for cleaning. He sits in the training room as Johnny and Taeyong practice one-on-one with kendo rods, observing at the side. Call it favoritism, but he roots for Taeyong as time goes by. The score is four to two, in Johnny’s favor, whose long limbs are his advantage.

In the middle of seventh match Taeyong says something to Johnny, who smiles brightly, and runs to the door. He opens it and calls over his shoulder, “You have a surprise visitor, Sicheng.”

Sicheng makes to stand. “Me?” He doesn’t have any idea who it could be. Joohyun? She normally tells Sicheng to come up, though, if she wants to talk. Wendy and Seulgi aren’t supposed to be back until Wednesday. The only other agent Sicheng knows is in China, unless...

“Dong Sicheng!”

The questionably dressed agent is smiling from ear to ear as he crosses the room to envelop Sicheng in a hug. Kun smells of China, of dust and crowded streets and incense. He’s wearing yellow pants and a plaid parka, lime green hightops and a blue scarf. His Applewatch digs into Sicheng’s side as he presses close. Everything about him is so familiar to Sicheng, who wills himself not to cry, because homesickness isn’t equivalent to sadness. Homesickness is a painful reminder that China is over a thousand kilometers away, but a reminder nonetheless that he has a home there.

And Sicheng _doesn’t_ cry. Seriously.

“Whoa, hug Sicheng too long and his boyfriend will get jealous,” Johnny hums, cocking his head, kendo rod resting by his foot.

Sicheng reluctantly lets Kun go, making sure to wipe his eyes. “At least I _have_ a boyfriend,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue. Johnny puts his hand on his front, hurt.

Taeyong inhales sharply. “Ouch, man. You need some ice on that burn?” Johnny raises the rod to whack him, but Taeyong is quick on his feet and dodges.

“You’re lucky it’s against policy to kill you.”

“Yeah, like you could even get an attempt in,” Taeyong taunts.

Johnny flips his hair. “Oh, you’re _on_ , pretty boy.”

Kun joins Sicheng at the side of the room as Taeyong and Johnny continue sparring, now a battle of pride instead of friendly practice. They don’t pay any attention to the Chinese men and their conversation, mainly since it’s all in Mandarin. Sicheng still watches and keeps score. He even shoots a few hearts to Taeyong for luck. Johnny is close to calling it witchcraft because Taeyong starts to get _better_.

“I learned some Korean,” Kun declares offhandedly, “but I’m more comfortable with Mandarin, obviously.”

“That’s nice, ge. Expanding your communication capabilities. You’re even _more_ of an overachiever.” Sicheng pauses. “Wait. Does that mean... You understood—” He gestures to Taeyong, Johnny, and then himself, “—that?”

Kun beams, “Yes! I hadn’t realized you started dating. I’m happy for you!” He drops his voice low as he adds, “The agent is very handsome. What’s his name again? Taeyong?”

Blushing, Sicheng stutters, “No, ge, uh, _yes_ , it’s— It’s a long story. It’s for a cover, you see. This arrangement helps explain why he’s with me so often to his friends and family without making it seem suspicious.” He laughs nervously. “Taeyong ge isn’t actually my boyfriend.”

“My mistake,” Kun says, apologetic. “You two really act well. Fooled me.”

“I fool myself sometimes,” admits Sicheng. “Taeyong ge is very kind and warm. He’s very caring, and I’m glad he’s the one I’m... fake-dating.” He clears his throat at Kun’s curious gaze. “I mean, it’d be weird if it was, say, Johnny ge.”

Kun snickers, “They’re both charming in their own ways.” Sicheng, thinking about it, can see that.

“Are you here for long, Kun ge? Should I take you sightseeing?”

“Sadly, I’m only here for a day,” sighs Kun.

“That’s too bad, ge. You missed out.” Sicheng scratches his head. “Well, I don’t really know the sights of Seoul, so maybe not,” he admits. “What’re you here for?”

“I’m picking up some physical files for the China division,” Kun says. “I’m sure they told you about the incident. The hacking.”

“Yeah, Johnny ge filled us in.” Sicheng brushes off Kun’s look of concern. “Was it that bad for the organization?”

“No, not necessarily. Albeit, NCT is being cautious, so any new information gathered isn’t going to be uploaded into the systems yet. I’m taking it back to the headquarters in China.”

“Cool,” hums Sicheng. “Are you a lone rider?”

“That I am. It gets more complicated if more agents travel at once.” Kun sighs. “It got a little lonely on the flight, I might add.”

“When I first came to Korea I bonded with an old lady next to me,” Sicheng says. “She was nice.”

Kun rubs his neck. “I sat next to a xenophobic middle-aged man, so I wasn’t sure how open he was on civil conversation.” Sicheng laughs, though he’s sure it’s not meant to be funny.

Unfortunately, only half an hour later, Kun has to leave when he gets a call from the China division. He gets up and hugs Sicheng, waving at Johnny and Taeyong, who pause their match to send him off.

“It was good seeing you, ge,” Sicheng declares, grinning. “Tell the kids at the orphanage I say hi.”

“I don’t know if they actually like me,” confesses Kun.

“Oh, they like you. Like to make fun of you, that is, but they’re kids. Chenle probably has a crush on you.”

“That makes me uncomfortable,” Kun says, frowning.

Sicheng chuckles, “As it should. Have a safe trip back to China, ge.”

“Have fun staying in Korea, Sicheng.” Kun gives him one final hug before leaving the training room.

As Johnny and Taeyong grow tired, the two agents call a truce as the score plateaus at twenty to twenty. Sicheng applauds their efforts and fetches them water bottles. He also gets towels for the agents to wipe away their sweat, and since Taeyong has no strength in his arms Sicheng does it for him. It’s gross, which he says multiple times aloud, and Taeyong just smiles at him. Johnny ties the towel around his head and pretends to be a fruit vendor, which actually fits his image very well.

It gets late. Taeyong had promised to make ramen for Sicheng tonight, so they get ready to leave headquarters. Taeyong boldly challenges Johnny to a boxing match for their next training session. Johnny accepts with ease. Before Sicheng has the chance to follow Taeyong out, Johnny pulls him aside.

“I know Mandarin, remember?” he reminds, and Sicheng does a mental _oops_. “Firstly, I take offense to not wanting to date me. I’m a catch. The whole package.”

“Sorry,” Sicheng apologizes. “I didn’t think you’d hear us.”

“No, it’s cool. I’m not bitter.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair. “It’s... Hey, about Taeyong,” he starts, and it takes him a few moments to finish the thought.

“Sicheng, be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

That’s a weird thing to say, even for Johnny. And Johnny says some pretty weird things.

“Okay,” Sicheng affirms without much thought. “I don’t get it, but okay.”

Johnny shows a halfhearted smile. “Bye, Sicheng.”

“Goodbye, Johnny hyung!”

Sicheng catches up with Taeyong, who’s waiting for him by the elevator.

“What’d Johnny hyung talk to you about?”

Shrugging, Sicheng says, “Nothing important.” At least, Sicheng doesn’t think it is.

——

“Are you free?”

Sicheng looks up and sees Taeyong leaning over the couch, hands stuffed in his sweater pockets. He has a sullen expression on his face, so Sicheng ruffles his hair.

Truthfully, Sicheng has stopped working on homework hours ago. He got distracted by a cute rabbit video, which made him slip into the proverbial rabbit hole of cute animal videos. Calculus long forgotten, he’s currently watching wombats, which are giant Australian puffballs. It’s not productive at all, so he shakes his head at Taeyong’s question.

“I’m not doing anything, hyung. Why?”

Taeyong buzzes his lips. “I wanna go somewhere.” He shows the slightest pout. “Will you come with me?”

How can Sicheng say no to that face?

Sicheng grabs his coat and follows Taeyong out the apartment. Taeyong has his eyes glued to his phone as he walks. Sicheng holds onto him from behind, by the end of his jacket, maneuvering him so he doesn’t run into light posts or other pedestrians. It gets progressively harder as the sun sets, casting darkness onto Seoul, but Taeyong is still set on following the directions on his phone.

“Where are we going?” asks Sicheng, after nearly fifteen minutes of walking.

Taeyong peers over his shoulder for a brief second. “On a date. For Valentine’s Day. Well, the day _after_ Valentine’s, because everything’s cheap.”

A giggle bubbles from Sicheng’s chest. “Romantic.”

Eventually, Taeyong puts away his phone and starts heading in one direction, sure-footed. Sicheng recognizes the area: the Han River. They’re walking through the park, where people are lounging on mats and having late dinners. He and Taeyong already ate an hour ago, and although he wouldn’t be against eating more, he’s positive Taeyong wouldn’t be giving them (another) instant dinner.

Taeyong walks down to the docks, Sicheng taking his time to admire the scene. Dozens of boats are anchored, but only one has its lights on. It’s a tour boat, blue and white, with practically no one on board. There’s a deck at the front of the boat with rows of chairs, and the inside area has see-through windows and padded seats.

“A boat,” Sicheng says, dumbfounded. Taeyong gives the man standing at the ramp connecting the boat to the dock two tickets. “A boat tour, hyung?”

Taeyong nods. “You’ve never seen Seoul like this. This feels like a good way to show you.” He steps onto the ramp and turns to Sicheng, smiling. “Take my hand?”

Sicheng grabs on and takes his first cautious step. He shuffles his feet until they reach the deck, letting out an involuntary breath of relief. “I’ve never gone on a boat before,” he confesses shakily.

“I don’t see much difference between this and an airplane,” Taeyong responds.

“More wobbly,” Sicheng remarks, making a face.

“If you get nauseous, tell me. We can sit down inside.”

“I’m fine,” says Sicheng. “Can we go to the edge? I wanna see where we’re going.”

Taeyong helps him walk to the very front of the boat, one of Sicheng’s hand in his while Sicheng slides the other on the railing. When Sicheng is at a spot where he can get comfortable, he leans against the railing and looks down. The waves are sloshing onto the boat, and there is a family of ducks getting out of the way as it begins to move. Sicheng counts six ducklings.

The boat travels across the river, the Seoul skyline as its backdrop. Twinkling skyscraper lights color the city white, blue, red, orange. The highway shines with high speed cars, taillights zooming in the night. The sight is breathtaking.

Sicheng notices the sky above the skyline, the gray clouds and empty space. He frowns and says, disappointed, “You can’t see the stars.”

Taeyong squeezes Sicheng’s hand. “The city has too many lights,” he says thoughtfully, Seoul reflected in his eyes, “so we make our own stars.”

Oh.

Sicheng gets that overwhelming urge to kiss Taeyong, but he doesn’t. Won’t. Kissing Taeyong without rhyme or reason is preposterous. There’s no point. There’s nothing to gain. There isn’t anyone to deceive, no mistletoe overhead, no fireworks exploding behind them. Today isn’t even Valentine’s Day.

And it hits Sicheng, right then and there, that this— _They_ aren’t real. Taeyong isn’t Sicheng’s boyfriend, Sicheng isn’t Taeyong’s. They haven’t been dating for seven months because they’ve only known each other for six. Their relationship is a lie, only a lie, made for the benefit of Sicheng’s safety. Taeyong isn’t madly in love with Sicheng like everyone believes, and Sicheng—

Sicheng reaches into his pocket for a wish that isn’t there, yearning for a dream he can’t catch, and wills the feeling of heartbreak to pass.

“Do you like the view?” asks Taeyong, wind blowing through his hair, the corners of his lips curled upwards.

“Love,” Sicheng responds quietly. When Taeyong nods and grins widely like he _gets it_ , Sicheng can’t bear to tell him he’s got it all wrong.

The truth can wait for a while. Sicheng can handle it. He’s strong, stronger than a simple crush. Stronger than a broken heart. Another lie won’t hurt anyone, especially if he’s the only one who has to keep it.

( _Oh_ , Sicheng thinks numbly as Taeyong lays his head on his shoulder, _this must be what Johnny hyung meant_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“galaxy” by akdong musician](https://youtu.be/krW53GDEB0A) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	11. very incredibly, slightly dynamically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Surprise!” Sicheng shouts. “Double date!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello i am still sorry for the Sad, so here is the Not Sad (feat. dota)

Sicheng likes listening to drama — real-life drama, like gossip around campus or middle-aged women’s chatter in the supermarket. He’s always had an affinity for tuning in when it’s not his business, a trait that he’s equally ashamed and proud of. When he hears some girls in calculus talking about the “Japanese guy” and the “orange loudmouth” having a bad relationship it doesn’t sit right with him.

Obviously they’re talking about Yuta and Doyoung. There aren’t many Japanese students on campus, and the “orange loudmouth” is certainly a dead giveaway for a particular skilled vocalist. Yuta and Doyoung haven’t exactly known one another for long, but they’ve certainly made a name for themselves.

Water and fire, respectively.

Yuta is water, go with the flow and easily adaptable. He can be calm, powerful, cold, steaming. Doyoung, on the other hand, is fire — passionate, uncontrollable, explosive. He burns the ground he walks on, caring little for the scorched aftermath.

Together they don’t work. Rumors from strangers and acquaintances go around about their incompatible chemistry. Always bickering, senseless arguments with no real meaning. Yuta riles Doyoung up just to make him angry, and Doyoung has no patience for the mockery. They share a writing class, which is far less than glamorous. Yuta and Doyoung constantly try to one up each other in scores like it’s some kind of competition. Their classmates don’t call them friends, because they’re more akin to arch nemeses in a crime series.

But they don’t see what Sicheng sees.

When there’s downtime in dance class, Yuta is sure to grab onto his phone and send a smiley emoji to _DoDo Bird_ , no context behind it. He never says anything after sending it, but when he gets a reply he breaks into the biggest grin Sicheng has ever seen on him. Doyoung is a nagger by nature, like Taeyong, and never fails to dote on his friends when they go out to play. There’s always a moment where he lingers by Yuta, like he wants to tell him that one extra piece of advice, but he never finds the courage to do so. They skirt about one another, never meeting in the middle, and there lies the problem.

Sicheng takes matters into his own hands as he and Yuta are walking to class after a coffee run.

“Do you like Doyoung hyung?”

Yuta chokes on his Americano, nearly stabbing his uvula with the straw. “What— What do you mean?”

“Like... like-like.” Sicheng thinks that’s a very self-explanatory way of describing it.

“Well,” Yuta begins slowly. “I like him in the _he’s so cute I wanna punch him in the face_ sort of way. So, yeah. I guess. Maybe.”

“Do you want to date him?”

Thankfully, Yuta has already swallowed his coffee and is safe from choking. “I wouldn’t be _opposed_ to it,” he says, side-eyeing Sicheng. “Why? Did he ask about me?”

Sicheng gnaws at his straw. “Not... exactly.”

“Oh.” Yuta isn’t devastated per se, but he doesn’t look happy. He sighs. “I tease him too much, don’t I? I should cut back. Level it down.” He sighs, heavier. “But his reactions are so _cute_. His nose does this tiny scrunch, and—”

“Yuta hyung, that’s a bad way of showing your affections,” Sicheng chides lightly.

“Hey, not everyone can be so lovey-dovey like you and Taeyong! Feelings are a bitch to deal with,” Yuta scoffs. Sicheng bites his lip. “And Doyoung hates me. That’s a big problem.”

“He doesn’t—” Sicheng stops. “Hm.”

Yuta scuffs his shoe on the ground. “I don’t think I have a chance. Not with how Doyoung thinks of me now,” he grumbles. He looks at Sicheng, shrugging halfheartedly. “I do like him. Genuinely, if that’s any consolation. I’m just immature dealing with it.”

The two friends arrive at dance class and are given a short scolding by Ms. Kwon for not getting her a green tea frappuccino. It’s all in good fun, though, and when it’s time to start class Sicheng has enough caffeine in him to do that flip in the second verse. He momentarily forgets about the Doyoung and Yuta dilemma, focusing on getting footwork correct and moves in order. The upcoming performance has him doing an intricate tumbling sequence, and if he isn’t careful, he could take out his ankle. At this point he’s almost perfected it and only needs to work on the landing.

Class time flies by as they work without a break. The students tiredly collapse on the floor and groan, and Sicheng is no exception. He sees Yuta checking his phone, a slight frown on his face as he types, and crawls over to him with a fresh idea.

“How about,” Sicheng starts, looping an arm through Yuta’s, “a double date?”

Yuta grimaces at Sicheng’s sweaty arm on him, but he relents as his interest is piqued. “With you and Taeyong hyung? And me and Doyoung?” Sicheng nods. “Would Taeyong hyung be up for it, though? He doesn’t seem like the guy to partake in such... activities.”

Sicheng grins. “He will,” he assures. “Leave that to me.”

——

Taeyong and Sicheng are headed to the COEX mall under the ruse of shopping for spring apparel. Taeyong had been unwilling to come outside; the changing weather makes his allergies act up, which makes him sneeze and sniffle. After Sicheng told him that assistance would be needed for shopping, because Taeyong finds the _best_ deals, Taeyong reluctantly agreed to accompany him.

Upon arriving at the front entrance Sicheng stops Taeyong and presents him with the slip of paper.

“Aquarium,” he declares. “Four wish.”

Taeyong looks at the paper, then at Sicheng, then at the paper again. “There’s a catch. Your face is telling me there’s a catch,” he says, suspicious, taking the paper. “Tricking me to come outside, too. That’s low.”

Sicheng holds up his hands. “No catch,” he insists.

“Dong Sicheng,” Taeyong says sternly. “Spit it out or we aren’t getting ice cream on the way home.”

Sicheng gasps. Now _that_ ’s low. He puffs out his cheeks, folding his arms over his chest and looking at a tree across the street.

“With Doyoung hyung and Yuta hyung,” he mutters.

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Sicheng counters. Taeyong purses his lips. “They’re on their way right now.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. He asks jokingly, “Why? Are you trying to play Cupid?” Sicheng, after Taeyong explains who Cupid is, enthusiastically nods. “Oh, wait, no way.”

Sicheng huffs, “ _Yes_ way.” Taeyong narrows his eyes. “Okay, so Yuta hyung and Doyoung hyung like each other. They’re just... bad at expressing it.” He pats his chest. “I am helping.”

“Nothing good comes out of meddling with people’s love lives,” warns Taeyong, and Sicheng frowns. “ _But_. I’m willing to lend a hand. Just this once.”

Sicheng perks up. “Really?”

“It sounds fun,” Taeyong says. “Worst thing that can happen if it all goes wrong is that Doyoung will ignore me for a week, and that’s not something I’m remotely concerned about.”

“Nice!” exclaims Sicheng. “Okay, so Doyoung hyung doesn’t know that Yuta hyung is coming. Doyoung hyung thinks this is an ‘everyone’ trip. Doyoung hyung doesn’t know that it’ll be a date for him and Yuta hyung. Doyoung hyung—”

“I think I get it,” Taeyong interrupts, saving Sicheng the trouble. “Doyoung doesn’t know anything. Absolutely clueless. Nothing in his head. Old news.”

An arm snakes over Taeyong’s shoulder, and Doyoung smiles wickedly. “Talking about me behind my back, I see. I knew you were a bad apple from the start.”

“I’ve been caught,” Taeyong deadpans. Doyoung hits him.

“Hi, Doyoung hyung,” Sicheng greets, pulling him away from Taeyong. “Did you get here okay?”

Doyoung nods. “Where’s everyone? Am I early?” He checks his phone. “It’s already three.”

Sicheng grins.

“I don’t have telepathy. Use your words, sweetie,” says Doyoung, tilting his head.

Taeyong puts his hands in his pockets. “Sicheng actually has something to tell you.”

“And that is...?”

Sicheng continues grinning as he sees his Japanese friend walking towards him. “Yuta hyung!”

Yuta bounds towards them and hugs Sicheng, all the while Doyoung distastefully scrunches his nose and scoffs, “Oh, _him_.”

“Good to see you, too,” Yuta says warmly. Doyoung does not look charmed.

“Surprise!” Sicheng shouts, earning the attention of several passerby. “Double date!”

“W-What? With _him_!?” sputters Doyoung, pointing at Yuta, the faintest hints of a blush on his cheeks. “Sicheng, what the hell? You set me up!”

“That technically is the goal,” says Taeyong.

Doyoung makes a whining noise and stamps his feet. “I’m not doing this. You can’t make me.”

Yuta’s expression cracks, and Sicheng looks to Taeyong for help.

“Come on, Doyoung. It’ll be fun. You’ve already come all the way here,” Taeyong says. “You’ll walk around with us and admire exotic sea life. You won’t be _alone_ with Yuta, because you’ll have us. That’s not so bad, right?”

Yuta glances at Doyoung, hopeful, and Doyoung begrudgingly gives in.

“I am not happy about this,” huffs Doyoung, storming through the entrance. Yuta trails after him, spirits high. When he tries to hold Doyoung’s hand Doyoung threatens to sock him in the jaw, fist lifted and ready.

“It’s gonna be a long day,” sighs Taeyong. He holds open the door for Sicheng, and when they’re inside he holds out his hand. Sicheng takes it, laughing, and they steer towards the aquarium.

——

Sicheng has been to an aquarium before, once. In elementary school he went with his class of thirty on an educational tour. It was fun, but Sicheng was always wandering when he wasn’t supposed to. He got in a load of trouble for going into the backroom of the shark tank. Because of that he couldn’t pick out a souvenir from the gift shop, as punishment, the teacher’s aid clamping onto his hood so he wouldn’t run off again. He watched his friends carry home dolphin toys, holographic keychains, color-changing pencils. All he got during that field trip was a scolding and a peek into a room that smelled like a fish market.

Redemption has always been needed.

While exploring a tourist blog in the questionable hours of the night, Sicheng had been inspired. An aquarium adventure! The COEX aquarium is a great place for dates, too, and Sicheng had decided that it would be good for Yuta and Doyoung’s first. There’s essentially no chance of it going awry, and if there was a chance, it would be slim to none. Sicheng wants his friends to be happy, and he can tell that if today goes right, they’ll be happier than ever.

Sicheng pays for his and Taeyong’s tickets; Doyoung pays for his own and Yuta’s. Doyoung is appalled at the exorbitant prices, but Yuta assures him he’ll handle the next one. Scoffing, Doyoung says that if anyone’s going to pay for dates, the more handsome one should, which is clearly Doyoung — and then he blushes, because that was _not_ an invitation for more dates, shut up.

The aquarium follows a straight path to showcase the exhibits. The lady at the check-in desk tells them that it’s not too crowded, given it’s a weekday, so the walk will take about an hour-and-a-half, possibly longer if they stay and take pictures. Knowing Yuta, and also being guilty of it himself, Sicheng knows that the trip will take two hours minimum. He’s going to take pictures until the storage on his phone is full and then take over Taeyong’s phone, too.

The path starts off with Korean environments. Wildlife that is indigenous to Korea, in shallow fields and ponds that mimic real world. Taeyong acts like Sicheng’s guide, eagerly naming the fish and where they can be found. Afterwards is a peculiarly themed area, where the tanks are household objects. There’s a fridge that has angelfish swimming in it and a toilet bowl with tiny minnows. It’s the strangest sight to see, but creative and fun.

Doyoung and Yuta have gone ahead, but Taeyong and Sicheng are lagging behind. Yuta spends more time flirting with Doyoung instead of picture-taking, which in retrospect makes a lot of sense. That doesn’t stop Sicheng from snapping photos every five steps. Taeyong isn’t bothered, and from all the walks they take on a near daily basis Sicheng knows he likes keeping things slow anyway.

There’s a break before the next set of exhibits. Sicheng stops in front of the interactive pool, mini saltwater habitats with starfish and rocks. Hermit crabs, small shrimp, and clams sit in other pools, too. There are signs that say do not take the sea creatures out of the pool, but touching is allowed with expert supervision. The “expert supervision,” a man with large spectacles, stands in the corner of the area, playing his Nintendo 3DS XL.

Activating his best puppy-dog look, Sicheng tugs on Taeyong’s sleeve. “Can we touch?” he asks.

“This is the kids’ playground,” Taeyong proclaims. Sicheng pouts. “Well, since no one’s really here, we can stay for a little bit.”

Sicheng practically skips his way to the pools, Taeyong trying to appear nonchalant following him. He carefully dips his hand in the water, which is cool on his warm skin. He lets a shrimp come close to his fingers, and it tickles. Taeyong has his fun and scares the hermit crabs, making them tuck back into their shells.

“How do you say this, hyung? The feeling.” Sicheng asks, rubbing the pad of his index finger on the starfish. Taeyong tells him, and he repeats it carefully. “Ah, the starfish is _spiky_.” Taeyong chuckles, agreeing.

After a few more minutes at the interactive playground, Taeyong and Sicheng continue to the next exhibit. There are more than just fish, apparently, and Sicheng loses his mind over an otter that keeps touching the glass. Taeyong takes a picture of Sicheng, with his hand on the glass, pretending to high-five the otter — Sicheng’s expression is priceless. Continuing on, there are dozens more displays of saltwater wildlife, like clownfish and seahorses. Sicheng hadn’t known that male seahorses carry the babies, and is in awe when Taeyong tells him that the one hooked on a kelp is pregnant. Nature is truly a mystery.

The highlight of the aquarium is the next exhibit, which is a seventy-five meter long tunnel that is surrounded by water. Fish of all kinds are swimming alongside them as they walk, sharks and eels and lionfish. Sicheng is awestruck at the structure and watches as a manta ray swims overhead. He can’t stop saying “cool” under his breath. Tracing his finger on the glass, he can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t turn around,” whispers Taeyong, appearing in front of Sicheng.

Sicheng, naturally, makes to turn around, but Taeyong holds onto his cheeks to keep their gazes locked. Sicheng frowns, to the best of his ability, and stares at Taeyong’s nose. Before he can ask _why?_ Taeyong is kissing him.

There are a lot of things that go through Sicheng’s head, and the first is _man, it feels good to be taller than Taeyong hyung_. They’ve kissed before, that instant in private and several times in front of friends to prove a point. However, Sicheng has never stood in front of Taeyong, dipped his head down, and captured Taeyong’s lips in his. And this wasn’t exactly how he pictured it, but it’s—

Magical. The light of the water highlights Taeyong’s sharp features, casts a glow that makes him look ethereal. Taeyong’s lips glide against Sicheng’s, the nerves tingling as he kisses Sicheng longer, cold hands warming on Sicheng’s burning cheeks. Sicheng’s eyes flutter shut as Taeyong presses closer, feels the waves encompass the tunnel, feels his heart race as fast as a tiger shark.

The kiss ends sooner than Sicheng wants it to, but he won’t tell that to Taeyong. His face is unimaginably hot as he asks, “What was that for?”

Taeyong is like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place. When he snaps out of his daze he babbles hastily, “I’m so sorry, Sicheng. I— I should’ve said I would do that before I— before I _did_ that. Fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

Sicheng holds Taeyong by the shoulders and smiles reassuringly. “Hyung, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Tell me what happened.”

Biting his lip, Taeyong lowers his voice and explains, “I needed to hide. There was someone I recognized — an agent from another organization. Not a bad one, but one that rivals NCT.” He sighs. “I don’t know why on earth she would be _here_ , of all places. She hurried by, so maybe was looking for someone... Normally agents ignore one another out in public, since we’re not supposed to interact, but she... kind of hates my guts.”

“You did a bad thing,” Sicheng guesses, and Taeyong nods, guilty.

“Let’s just say I ruined her highly covert mission involving the prince of a small country.” Taeyong rubs his neck. “If she saw me, she would not hesitate to do the same. And dropkick me. If there was enough room in here, she may’ve even thrown me.”

“What the heck, hyung!”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Taeyong grumbles, embarrassed, as Sicheng laughs. He jerks his thumb to a fish that swims by his head. “This stingray gets me.”

Sicheng snorts. “When can we start walking? Should we wait?” Taeyong looks over his shoulder and nods. “Okay, hyung. Tell me about that prince mission. What was it about?”

Taeyong leans against the wall of the tunnel.

“She was butting in on a toxic arranged marriage between messed up parties, I think. The details are fuzzy. The royal family there was a mess, as well as the government. Bribery, puppeteering, fake news. Corruption in a nutshell. The agent’s mission was to dissolve the marriage to bring about justice in the system, because the second in line was more levelheaded. She went undercover as a guard, I think, but not one too close to the prince and princess.

“For my mission, I was helping a store owner search for his daughter, around seven, in the same country. It wasn’t a very long mission, and there wasn’t any need for me to make an identity for myself. What made my presence problematic to the other agent’s mission was the fact that I exposed her intentions in front of the royal guards.

“It was at the marketplace, and the guards were overseeing the provincial sellings. She dropped something as she turned to go, and I yelled out to her for her to notice. Her whole crew looked, too, and it turned out what she dropped was a vial of poison — not deadly, but very potent — that she planned on giving the princess. By the time I realized she was an agent, it was too late. She was taken away and sentenced to life imprisonment.”

“No wonder she hates you,” Sicheng murmurs.

Crossing his arms, Taeyong continues flippantly, “In my defense, I didn’t ruin _all_ of her mission. I ruined her _undercover_ portion of it. She was able to escape confinement a few days later with my help. Unfortunately for her, things were already taking care of themselves. The marriage was dissolved successfully in the end, and peace was close to being achieved. Her organization just wasn’t credited for it, which meant no payment.”

“So it was still your fault, hyung,” Sicheng points out. “Yikes.”

Taeyong bumps his shoulder. “Be quiet. Her problem wasn’t _my_ problem. Unlucky accident, okay.” He peeks down the tunnel, checking if there’s any sign of her. “I think we’re good. Let’s keep going. The sharks are starting to freak me out.”

Sicheng waves goodbye to the fish and follows Taeyong to the next exhibit.

——

The end of the aquarium leads to the gift shop. There are shelves of all kinds stocked with knick-knacks and merchandise. Sweaters and t-shirts hang on racks with _COEX AQUARIUM_ blazoned on them in bubbly fonts. There are at least four different sections dedicated to stuffed animals, ranging from sizes miniature to gigantic.

The agent who would engage in combat upon first glance with Taeyong is nowhere to be seen. She’s left no trace of being here; Taeyong asks about her to the workers, who swear they hadn’t seen a short, independent woman pass at all. Sicheng whispers, “A ghost,” and Taeyong has to tell him that the agent is very much alive and continues to send him hate mail.

Doyoung and Yuta are gone as well, having left Sicheng and Taeyong to visit a Japanese restaurant by Yuta’s recommendation on their own. Unsurprisingly to Sicheng, they had been able to resolve their romantic tension, work out their differences, and admit their true feelings for one another. Sicheng gets a picture message from Yuta with the caption _my bunny boyfriend!! o_ _ㅅo_ , Doyoung showing off his gummy smile as he pinches Yuta’s cheek and Yuta holding up two fingers behind Doyoung’s head for rabbit ears.

So, with no need to worry about anyone else bothering them, Taeyong and Sicheng browse the gift shop languidly. Sicheng touches everything that he’s allowed to — the fuzzy stuffed animals, educational picture books, light up pens. Taeyong inspects seashells and pearl necklaces, telling Sicheng he’s better off going to a real beach to string together these accessories. They go in opposite directions, exploring the store, until Sicheng calls the elder’s name.

“Taeyong hyung, look!”

Snow globes are timeless keepsakes. There is a shelf in the corner of the shop dedicated to them, placed in boxes, with one from each box set out on display. Sicheng’s attention hadn’t been caught by the large glass snow globes that play lullabies and are the size of his hand. Instead, he holds a plastic snow globe, so small it feels almost weightless, that has a turtle in the center of it, tiny reflective sparkles floating around the water like jellyfish. The snowdome is a decorated reef, and Sicheng runs his fingertips on the various textures.

Taeyong comes over, interested. “I’ll buy it for you,” he says.

“What?” Sicheng blurts.

“Souvenirs are the best part of field trips,” Taeyong declares simply. Sicheng won’t admit it, but he is absolutely smitten.

After the aquarium Taeyong and Sicheng go to a café for ice cream and waffles. Pre-dinner, Sicheng says, after he orders blueberry waffles with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Taeyong goes for chocolate waffles and pistachio ice cream, and he steals bites off Sicheng’s plate when Sicheng isn’t looking. Sicheng steals bites from Taeyong’s plate, too, except with less finesse and secretiveness the agent has.

Fake relationship aside, Sicheng still considers the day to have been a nice date. The kiss was definitely a bonus, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“hush baby” by bestie](https://youtu.be/C0uL69L4578) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	12. the prettiest flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean...” Taeyong sighs. “We’re hanging out with a toddler for three days. Are you mentally prepared for that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this fic is fake dating au feat. agents au, what the Heck is action, what is conflict, what is evil
> 
> also speaking of evil (mnet) i started a [produce 101 drabble fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10999437/chapters/24501759), it is literally the Worst Decision I've Ever Made, go check it out if ur interested ;^)

The first Saturday of spring break begins with Taeyong barging into Sicheng’s room at six a.m. and asking, out of breath, “Are you comfortable riding trains?”

Sicheng rubs his eyes and sits forward. “That’s a very specific question, hyung,” he mutters groggily.

“Answer it.”

“Uh.” Sicheng covers a yawn. “Yes? Yes. Trains are fine. Better than buses.”

Taeyong exhales, relieved. “Another question,” he says. He gives Sicheng a watery smile. “Do you wanna come to Busan with me?”

Mornings aren’t the worst for Sicheng, but in no way is he Johnny Suh, who voluntarily gets up at the brink of dawn to steep coffee. He half-listens to everything Taeyong says, but he gets the gist of it. There are two choices: go to Busan and help babysit Taeyong’s niece for a few days or stay with Johnny until Taeyong comes back. Because Sicheng isn’t keen on getting woken when Johnny bangs his knee on the kitchen cabinet, which happens a lot more than one would expect, Sicheng chooses the former.

Taeyong helps Sicheng pack a bag while Sicheng brushes his teeth. He has train tickets for eight a.m., and they should waste no time in preparation. Sicheng’s bag is full of clothes by the time he’s washed his face, and the only thing he has to add to it is Jiayou. Afterwards, they’re ready to go and Taeyong triple-checks the apartment before heading out.

The train is roomy, and Sicheng gets the chairs closest to the window. They shove their bags in the overhead storage and have enough legroom to stretch. Taeyong is beside him and explaining the details of his situation as the train sets off.

At five-thirty in the morning, Taeyong had gotten a call. It was from his mother, who had told him his father felt sick so she’d taken him to the hospital with her. While it hadn’t been anything life-threatening, the doctors wanted to keep him in the hospital for overnight monitoring and more testing. She doesn’t expect Taeyong to visit, but she asked if he could do them a favor.

The parents were given the task to babysit their granddaughter, Taeyong’s niece, while Taeyong’s sister goes on a business trip. Taeyong’s sister and husband, who is away for a month for research training, live in Busan. There’s no way her father could travel from Seoul whilst bedridden. Taeyong’s sister’s backup had been her husband’s parents, but now they can’t come due to a flooding in their home that needs to be taken care of. Babysitters are too costly for a three-day job on such short notice.

Therefore, naturally, Taeyong takes his cue as the reliable college student uncle who’s free for the week because of spring break. He’ll become a temporary babysitter with Sicheng — his friend, apartment-mate, Chinese transport, and fake-boyfriend.

“I should write that on a nametag,” says Sicheng. “It’ll get a kick out of Johnny hyung.”

Taeyong snorts into his fist. He glances at Sicheng and lightly taps his hand. “You’re fine with this, right? That I asked you to babysit with me.”

Sicheng nods. “I get to meet part of your family,” he says. “That’ll be fun.”

“I mean...” Taeyong sighs. “We’re hanging out with a toddler for three days. Are you mentally prepared for that?”

“I should nap now, then,” hums Sicheng. He drops his head on Taeyong’s shoulder, smiling. “To charge my energy. Like a battery pack.”

Taeyong laughs quietly as he turns on a movie on his phone, putting the volume on low. Sicheng is lulled asleep to the muffled sound of a piano, dreaming of a pianist who falls in love with the girl who turns his pages.

——

Busan is warm, similar to Seoul. The only difference Sicheng discovers is that people speak strange, with an accent, which he has a hard time understanding. To be honest, not much different that Seoulite living. Taeyong does all the talking, like always, as they take a taxi to Taeyong’s sister’s apartment complex.

When they arrive, Taeyong leads them to the elevator and presses the button for the second floor. The elevator opens, and Sicheng is glad that it looks a lot like their place. Taeyong wastes no time in heading to the door and punching in the code.

The apartment is not unlike Sicheng and Taeyong’s place, but the furniture is nicer and there are children’s toys littered on the ground. Sharp corners are baby-proofed. If Sicheng squints, he can see crayon writings on the wall. There are paintings, mostly monochromatic photos, framed closer to the ceiling. The Lees must all share the same artistic tastes.

“Taeyong, is that you?” shouts a female voice.

Taeyong’s sister, long black hair tied in a high ponytail, comes out of the main bedroom, rolling a suitcase, dressed for business. A small girl toddles behind her, tightly holding onto an orange sippy cup. She’s dressed in striped black-and-white pajamas and reminds Sicheng of a young zebra.

“Oh? You brought a friend!” Taeyong’s sister exclaims. “Nice to meet you! I’m Taeyong’s older sister, Harim.”

As Harim energetically shakes Sicheng’s hand Taeyong introduces, “This is Sicheng, my boyfriend.” Sicheng glances at him, eyebrow raised, and Taeyong mouths a _what?_ right back.

“Another set of hands — wonderful! You both are _lifesavers_. I’ll treat you to dinner when I get back.” Harim pinches Taeyong’s cheek, and he grimaces. “I’ll be gone until Tuesday. If anything happens, call me or Mom.”

“Okay, noona. Stop pinching me, I am an _adult_.”

Harim rolls her eyes at Taeyong’s unimpressed expression. Sicheng suppresses a laugh.

Swiftly, Harim scurries around the apartment and explains, “Jinju wakes up at eight o’clock sharp, so make sure you have breakfast made before then. Snacktime is eleven, don’t give her anything before that, and lunch is at one. She should nap right after. Dinner is at six; she can have snacks from three to four. She isn’t allergic to anything, but she won’t eat veggies unless they’re cooked. Jinju isn’t allowed to watch more than an hour of TV, but educational shows and her iPad are fine. Her bookshelf and toy box are in her room. Baths are right before bedtime, which is at eight o’clock. Sometimes she’ll wake up in the night, but you just have to sing to her to get her to sleep again.

“If you can’t remember all that, I also wrote it in the notepad on the fridge. I organized them into sections. I didn’t have time to color code, but I think you can figure it out.”

“Got it,” Taeyong says. “Have a safe trip, noona.”

Harim gives a hug to Taeyong and another powerful handshake to Sicheng, and then she stoops down to hug and kiss the little girl on the cheek.

“Mommy is leaving for a while, but Uncle Taeyong and Uncle Sicheng will take good care of you, so be good for them, okay? Be on your best behavior! I’ll bring back treats when I come home. I love you.”

Sending a final flying kiss, Harim rolls her suitcase and leaves the apartment.

And, somehow expectedly, Jinju instantaneously bursts into tears.

Sicheng puts his and Taeyong’s bags away in the guest room as Taeyong calms Jinju down. She isn’t too fussy, so the tantrum doesn’t last long. It only takes Taeyong turning the television to Mickey Mouse Club and refilling her cup of milk for her to quiet down. Sicheng comes back to the living room, sees Taeyong and Jinju on the floor, and goes to join them.

“So this is my niece,” Taeyong says, and Jinju swiftly spins away from Sicheng to sip her milk. Taeyong sighs. “She likes me, most of the time, and strangers every once in a while.”

“She’s cute,” Sicheng remarks. Jinju turns, only a smidge, and he grins. “Hi! I’m Sicheng. What’s your name?”

Jinju stares at him, blinking slowly. “You talk weird.”

“Jinju, that’s not polite,” Taeyong chides. “Apologize.”

Frowning, Jinju makes a face as she mutters, “Sorry.” Taeyong ruffles her hair.

“I accept your apology,” Sicheng says. “Can I try again?” Jinju nods. “I’m Sicheng. I’m from China. That’s why I talk weird. I’m not that good with Korean yet. What’s your name?”

“Kwon Jinju,” she mumbles. She holds up her fingers. “I’m four.” She stays quiet for a few moments, and then points to the side of Sicheng’s face. “Your ears are different. One is round. The other is pointy.”

Taeyong gets ready to scold her again, but Sicheng just laughs.

“You know what? That’s because I’m half-fairy, half-human.” Sicheng is satisfied at the comical widening of Jinju’s eyes. Taeyong covers his mouth, hiding a smile. “You can’t see my wings, can you?”

With a voice full of awe, Jinju asks, “You’re magic? For real?”

Sicheng presses a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret,” he whispers. Jinju nods along, astonished. “Our secret, okay? Taeyong hyung doesn’t even know.”

Jinju whips her head to Taeyong, who gives a naive shrug. She breaks into a wide grin.

“Uncle Sicheng, do you wanna color with me?”

The next few hours are spent like that. Taeyong and Sicheng take care of Jinju, playing with her toys or letting her dance to shows on the TV. She warms up to Sicheng easily and shares her most precious items with him: her alphabet book, racecars, kitchen set, etc. There are sandwiches Harim made in the fridge, so they have a break for lunch around one. Jinju eats off her kiddie plate, with her sandwich in the main spot and her side dishes in the smaller ones. She eats well, even all her vegetables, and lifts her plate above her head triumphantly when she finishes. Sicheng struggles to hold in his laughter.

Afterwards, Jinju prepares for naptime. She sleeps in her parents’ room on a small bed next to theirs, with a purple blanket that has red and pink hearts on it. She immediately dives onto the bed, grabs her Rilakkuma plushie, and closes her eyes. It surprises both Taeyong and Sicheng how fast she’s able to fall asleep, but they won’t complain. Taeyong even takes the opportunity to take a nap of his own on the couch, and Sicheng covers him with a blanket while he cleans up the toys.

Jinju gets out of bed at two-thirty, rubbing her eyes and asking for snacks. Taeyong is still asleep, so Sicheng gets her in her highchair and puts out apple slices himself. Thankfully, they’re already pre-cut so Sicheng doesn’t have to worry about slicing off his finger. Jinju eats them happily and soon asks for peanut butter. Sicheng doesn’t give her more than a spoonful, but she still manages to get it all over her face and shirt.

When Taeyong opens his eyes and sees his niece and Sicheng’s hands a sticky mess, he can’t help but chuckle. After helping them clean themselves, he turns on a Disney movie for Jinju to watch. She doesn’t do much watching, more interested in “learning Chinese” on the iPad with Sicheng, but Taeyong enjoys it nevertheless. Eventually, it gets to be time for him to make dinner.

“What do you want to eat?” asks Taeyong as he walks to the kitchen.

“Omelet rice,” Sicheng answers instinctively, and Taeyong gives him a look. “Wait, you’re not asking me. Ha, my bad, hyung.” Sicheng pokes Jinju, and she looks up from her iPad. “Jinju, what do you want for dinner?”

Jinju parrots, “Omelet rice!” and Sicheng grins happily.

“That’s two votes for omelet rice, hyung.”

“It’s unanimous,” Taeyong laughs. He takes an apron from the food closet and declares, “Give me half an hour, and then your meal will be served.”

Taeyong is a man of his word, so dinner is made no more than thirty minutes later. Sicheng and Jinju help set the table, Sicheng getting the plates and Jinju placing the utensils. The omelet rice looks like something out of an anime — the egg perfectly rolled around the rice, ketchup spread artfully on top. There are also roasted potatoes and steamed broccoli on the side, Jinju’s portions cut extra tiny.

Sicheng breaks apart the omelet with his spoon and stuffs it into his mouth. “Mm!” he hums, doing a thumbs-up. “Taeyong hyung, it’s delicious!”

Jinju follows suit and exclaims, “Taeyong hyung, it’s delicious!” She even does a thumbs-up, too.

Taeyong sighs, “Jinju, you can’t copy everything Uncle Sicheng does and says. And you have to call him _and_ me ‘uncle’.” Jinju sticks out her tongue at him. “Cheeky little kid.”

After dinner, Sicheng and Taeyong continue to play with Jinju. When it gets close to her bedtime Taeyong readies Jinju for her bath. She gets changed into solid green pajamas, and Sicheng comments offhandedly that she looks like a frog. Inspired, she hops around her room and ribbits until Taeyong wrangles her onto her bed. She’s laughing the whole time, and Sicheng tickles her until she’s too winded to move. She then tells them goodnight and promptly knocks out.

With Jinju tucked in bed, Taeyong and Sicheng prepare for sleep as well. Showering, brushing their teeth, and doing their nighttime skincare routines like they do at home. Both of them are in the guest room, applying face lotion, Sicheng in front of the mirror and Taeyong lying on the bed.

“Day one is officially over,” sighs Taeyong. “If Jinju wakes up in the middle of the night, I’ll get her. She played a lot, so I think we’ll be good.” He yawns. “Geez, I’m exhausted.”

“Today was a piece of cake,” Sicheng counters. “Hyung, you’re just _old_.”

“I’m only twenty-two. Let me live.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes, holding back a snicker. He climbs onto the bed and falls next to Taeyong, holding Jiayou close. He hums and rubs his face into the sheets.

“Are you okay sharing the bed, hyung? I can sleep on the couch, if you want,” he says.

“No, this is fine. This is more comfortable,” Taeyong proclaims, settling on the pillow. He smirks. “Do you wanna be the big spoon?”

Sicheng hits him with Jiayou, which Taeyong blocks easily. “Ha-ha. Very funny, hyung.” He pulls the blanket over them both and whispers, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” says Taeyong, switching off the lights.

(Sicheng is the big spoon.)

——

The next morning, Sicheng stirs awake by tiny hands shaking his side. He blearily opens his eyes and sees a green blob. He reaches onto the nightstand for his glasses and pushes them up his nose. The blob transforms into Jinju, bangs done up in apple hair, chewing on a piece of toast and leaving crumbs in her wake. (That’s for Taeyong to deal with.)

“Uncle Sicheng, Uncle Taeyong says you gotta wake up or he’s gonna eat all the rice.”

“Tell him he can’t do that,” whines Sicheng, making a face. Jinju totters out of the room and comes back a minute later, this time with a stick of string cheese.

“He says he will, and then he’s going to eat all the ice cream, too.” Jinju frowns. “He’ll get a tummy-ache...”

That makes Sicheng get up, disgruntled. He pokes Jinju’s cheek on his way to the bathroom, and also glares at the back of Taeyong’s head as the elder stands in the kitchen, making breakfast. Taeyong turns around, like he has some sixth sense, and Sicheng glares harder. Taeyong snickers.

Sicheng gets his contacts in and does a halfhearted job of combing his hair. He walks out of the bathroom and sees Jinju playing with her toys, buzzing her lips. Sicheng rubs his face and starts to do lunges in the living room, stretching his arms forward. It’s his morning routine: stretching to improve his flexibility, a practice his dance instructor in China drilled into his head. Jinju watches him with interest and drops her racecar to mimic him, struggling to keep her balance. Sicheng holds onto her for support, and when he switches to the other side so does Jinju, giggling.

Taeyong walks into the living room and raises an eyebrow. “What’re doing?”

“Stretching,” says Sicheng.

“Stretching,” Jinju affirms.

“It’s time to eat,” Taeyong announces.

Sicheng picks Jinju up under the armpits and carries her to the dining room. When she’s seated in her chair, all she says is a mischievous, “Heh-heh.”

Breakfast is eggs, toast, sausage, and bacon. Jinju cleans her plate, humming a tune, and even asks Taeyong for seconds. Sicheng asks for seconds, too, and Jinju accuses _him_ of copying _her_. Taeyong gives them both moderate helpings of food, which dissipates any arguments to come between a four-year-old and twenty-year-old.

After breakfast, Jinju resumes playing with her toys. Taeyong stays in the kitchen to do the dishes while Sicheng sits beside Jinju, tucking his feet under him. He watches as she assembles her multi-colored building blocks into a large square base.

“What’s this?” he asks, curious.

Jinju looks up, expression cold. “My battleship.”

“Oh.”

“I’m gonna attack Uncle Taeyong with it,” Jinju goes on, smirking. Sicheng hadn’t known children could smirk like that, but he supposes new things are learned every day.

“What can I do to help?” he asks.

Jinju beams, “You can protect me, Uncle Sicheng. I think he has lasers.”

Sicheng grabs a pillow from the couch and pats it. “I’ll bring this shield. His lasers shouldn’t get through this.”

“Perfect!” exclaims Jinju.

Jinju and Sicheng crawl their way towards Taeyong, keeping as quiet as possible. Jinju’s battleship scrapes against the ground as she readies it behind Taeyong’s heels. She turns to Sicheng and begins to count down from five. Sicheng nods his head, pillow— uh, shield readied.

“I can hear you guys,” Taeyong declares, and Jinju shrieks.

“We’ve been spotted! Run away! Uncle Sicheng, escape!”

Sicheng follows after her, on his hands and knees, and pretends like Taeyong isn’t laughing at him.

When Taeyong is done with the dishes he joins Sicheng and Jinju for playtime. He makes a very promising dragon in the story where the hero (read: Sicheng) goes on a journey to save the princess (read: Jinju). The hero must slay the dragon in order to rescue the princess, but Sicheng doesn’t like how that story ends. He tells Jinju that the dragon and the hero can become friends if the hero tries hard enough. Dragons and heroes should write their own destinies!

Well, Jinju doesn’t actually care about the story. She just wants Sicheng to give her a piggyback ride around the apartment, and after the hero spares the dragon’s life he celebrates by doing just that.

Before they realize it, it’s already noon and Taeyong is announcing, “Lunchtime! What are the requests?”

“Cupcakes!” Jinju shouts.

Taeyong shakes his head. “No, not for lunch.” Jinju pouts.

Sicheng suggests, “How about spaghetti? Does that sound good, Jinju?” Jinju’s expression doesn’t change, her arms crossed stubbornly, but she nods.

“You can help me and Uncle Sicheng make cupcakes after your nap,” adds Taeyong. Jinju’s eyes shine with excitement. “That’s the spirit.”

Jinju obediently eats her spaghetti and then lies down for her nap. While she’s asleep Taeyong leaves for the supermarket to buy cupcake ingredients. Sicheng watches over the apartment, rearranging out of place furniture and putting away toys that Jinju had forgotten to clean up herself. He also tries folding Jinju’s laundry on the couch, but he soon realizes that kid sizes don’t work the same as adult-sized clothing (that, and Sicheng sucks at folding laundry). He does his best, though, and organizes the clothes into Jinju’s drawers.

Taeyong comes back, two grocery bags in hand. Sicheng helps him look up cupcake recipes, and they find one just as Jinju gets up from her nap. Taeyong ties her hair up and changes her into a short-sleeved shirt, and they get to cooking.

The dry ingredients are measured by Sicheng, checked by Taeyong, and poured by Jinju. Jinju sits on the counter as Taeyong starts to mix together the wet ingredients. She begs to crack an egg, and with Taeyong’s help she cracks one into the mix. Sicheng tries as well, but he breaks the egg before it can make it into the bowl. Jinju snickers at him.

Using a handmixer, Taeyong blends the dry and wet ingredients together to make the cupcake batter. Jinju says, “It looks like mud,” and Sicheng tells her it’ll taste much better than that. She and Sicheng spoon the batter into the cupcake tins in the tray, Sicheng doing his best not to spill and Jinju—

Jinju has no concept of accuracy, so most of the batter ends up around the cupcake tins rather than in them. She also manages to spill the batter on herself, unintentionally, and Taeyong makes a distressed sound when he sees her. Sicheng spoons the remaining batter into the tins while Jinju sits still with her hands in her lap. After they place the tray into the oven, Sicheng and Taeyong take Jinju straight to the bathroom for an early bath.

Yesterday, Taeyong had bathed Jinju alone, but today she drags Sicheng along, too. Sicheng helps wash her hair as Taeyong scrubs her body clean, Jinju squeaking a rubber duck and giggling. Sicheng finds that peanut butter has made its way into Jinju’s hair, but he doesn’t remember Jinju eating peanut butter and neither does Taeyong. Jinju just smiles, blows bubbles at them, and splashes.

Taeyong takes out the cupcakes from the oven to cool while Sicheng blowdries Jinju’s hair. In the meantime, Taeyong frosts the cupcakes to keep things clean, setting them on two plates, and promises Jinju she can eat one later. It’ll spoil her dinner, he says, but she complains that Uncle Sicheng is eating a cupcake, why can’t she?

Guiltily, Sicheng puts down the cupcake he was about to stuff into his mouth back on the plate. Taeyong commends him for his willpower, and when Jinju isn’t looking he lets Sicheng eat a bite of the cupcake anyway. Taeyong takes a bite, too, and hopes Jinju won’t ask about the half-eaten cupcake.

——

Jinju is securely holding onto Taeyong’s right hand and Sicheng’s left. They’re standing at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and she puffs out her cheeks impatiently. When the sign changes, she almost sprints across the street to get to the other side, but her caretakers at her side hold her back.

“Look both ways before crossing,” Sicheng says. Jinju huffs, but she looks left, right, left again, and then at Sicheng for authorization.

Taeyong smiles. “Okay, now we can go. Don’t let go of us, okay?” Jinju nods and hurriedly pulls them forward.

This morning, Jinju had asked to go to the park. Taeyong hadn’t seen any reason to deny her request. After lunch, instead of her nap, they take her outside to the park a few blocks over. Taeyong expects by doing this Jinju will be so tuckered out from playing that she’ll fall asleep right when they get home and wake up to eat dinner. Sicheng tells him it’s not very likely, but Taeyong has faith.

The park is moderately crowded when they arrive. The weather is bright and sunny, the ideal spring day, so families of all kinds are taking advantage of it. Young children play on the slides and jungle gyms, loud screams filling the air, their parents chatting on nearby benches. Jinju sprints straight for the monkey bars, and Taeyong and Sicheng follow after her to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

While Jinju is energetic in the apartment, she’s even livelier at the park. She never stops to take a break, bounding from one play area to the next. Taeyong and Sicheng take turns watching over her with Taeyong going first. Sicheng sits on a bench and observes from afar, chuckling to himself when Taeyong drags his feet as Jinju runs across the playground. For an agent who’s trained for years in combat, Taeyong really doesn’t like moving more than he has to.

When Taeyong decides he can’t run around any longer, he shuffles over to Sicheng and taps his hand to switch out. Sicheng gives him a quick, reassuring hug as he makes his way to Jinju on the top of the slide. She scurries to-and-fro, tiny feet padding on the ground, arms held behind her like butterfly wings. As Sicheng prepares to push her on the swings, Jinju calls out to him.

“Uncle Sicheng,” she says, and Sicheng stops as she turns around to blink at him. “Are you married to Uncle Taeyong?”

The question makes Sicheng’s grip on the chains of the swing tighten. Kids are too curious for their own good, and it doesn’t help that they don’t have filters. He’s glad she hadn’t asked in front of Taeyong, though, because—

Because Sicheng may be good at pretending, but he tends to lose his composure when he’s put on the spot. One can only use the excuse _I’m not good at Korean_ until someone finds it suspicious.

Sicheng clears his throat, scratches his head, and gives a weak smile. “No, not yet. We’re... not ready for that.”

Jinju gasps. “Why? Do you not love each other?”

Blushing, Sicheng stammers, “That’s—”

“I can tell Uncle Taeyong loves you very much! He looks at you in a nice way. It’s the same as Mom and Dad before they kiss.” Jinju wrinkles her nose and remarks quietly, “Cooties.”

“I don’t know that word,” Sicheng admits, completely honest. Jinju sighs heavily.

“Do you love Uncle Taeyong?” asks Jinju, and Sicheng, feeling a little silly getting this talk from a four-year-old, nods his head slowly. “ _I_ love him, but that’s different from your love. I love Uncle Taeyong because he’s family! He’s Mom’s brother!” She squints at Sicheng. “How do _you_ love him, Uncle Sicheng?”

Sicheng knows the answer. He’s not sure how comfortable he is telling Taeyong’s niece the truth, but he can’t give her the whole story. The story where a Chinese orphan is in over his head and falls for a Korean secret agent, knowing fully well the relationship they have is meant to stay as the protected and the protector. That their love is a fabrication of reality, a means to an end, a ruse meant to deceive. Sicheng knows the answer, knows it so well that it hurts.

“I just love him. A lot,” Sicheng confesses, the smile on his face never wavering. “He makes me very happy, Jinju.”

Jinju lets out a long breath, satisfied. “That’s good. You can make Uncle Taeyong very happy, too.”

“By doing what?” asks Sicheng, amused, giving Jinju a light push.

“Loving him!”

So simple, so innocent. Sicheng finds himself laughing, and he doesn’t mind it.

At night, when Taeyong and Sicheng are putting Jinju to bed, she cries. She knows they won’t be with her after tomorrow, and she begs them to share the bed with her. Her mattress is too small for three, so they use the master bed to keep her snuggled between them. It’s still a tight squeeze, but there’s something comforting about the way she nuzzles into Taeyong’s chest, kicks her heels on Sicheng’s knees.

In all honesty, it’s the best sleep Sicheng gets in the three nights they’ve stayed at Busan.

——

Tuesday evening, Harim returns with a bang. She throws the front door open, drops her suitcase, and exclaims, “My lovely daughter Jinju, I have returned!”

As promised, she brings Taeyong and Sicheng out for dinner at a local favorite. Jinju, of course, comes along as well. Pretending to read the menu, she sits next to Harim while Taeyong and Sicheng sit on the other side. The atmosphere is quaint, warm, and familiar despite Sicheng never having been here before. They order cold noodles and fried rice, Jinju slurping loudly as the adults converse.

Harim thanks them endlessly for caring for Jinju during their spring break. They could have gone on a couple’s vacation, but instead they chose to be babysitters. Taeyong tells her they hadn’t had any plans to begin with, which makes her cluck her tongue in disappointment.

“Taeyong has never been the romantic type,” she says, sighing, to Sicheng. “He always tries to play it cool, calm, and collected. I think he’s trying to keep up his charismatic, chic facade.”

“I think Taeyong hyung is cute,” Sicheng proclaims. “He likes Pokémon and animated movies. Very cute.” Taeyong scoffs, but he’s hiding a smile.

“Me, too!” exclaims Jinju. She winks at Sicheng, who tries not to roll his eyes. “Uncle Taeyong is cute!”

Harim pats her head as Taeyong says, “Thanks, kid.” Sicheng nudges his foot from under the table, and he chuckles. “Ah, I’m really feeling the love today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“l.i.u” by boys republic](https://youtu.be/y2goj_53E5w) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	13. there’s no color like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sicheng doesn’t want to regret loving Taeyong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #NothingHappens feat. johnjae

Doyoung is housesitting for his parents. They’re visiting relatives for the weekend, so Doyoung is making sure no one robs them and the cat doesn’t set anything on fire. Although he dorms, his home is close enough for a few friends to keep him company. On Friday night Taeil drives him, Sicheng, and Taeyong, who all have nothing planned. (Yuta is sick with the flu, so there’s no way Doyoung is letting his boyfriend get out of bed.) Donghyuck comes by to visit, too, bringing his whole friend group so they can use Doyoung’s dad’s dual monitor for MMO games. Reluctantly, Doyoung lets them — the office room is upstairs and they’re all good kids... mostly.

Doyoung’s house is spacious and, to put it gently, expensive. They have multiple plasma flat screen TVs, state of the art kitchen appliances, and game consoles of all kinds. Tables are made of marble, the floors slick hardwood. There’s a tuxedo cat climbing tree that spans a whole wall. The bathrooms have the prettiest toilets Sicheng has ever seen. When he tells Doyoung this the elder questions, “How often do you admire toilets?”

Sicheng does not provide him with an response.

After Doyoung feeds them his specially cooked braised beef and broccoli for dinner, Sicheng plays a first-person-shooter game on the XBOX with Taeil. Taeyong lounges on the other end of the couch, munching on a bag of popcorn, whispering offensive strategies to Sicheng. The kids — Donghyuck, Mark, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin — are upstairs playing Overwatch. Doyoung has disappeared for a good half hour and no one has questioned it. It’s not until he blocks the TV, a Hello Kitty makeup bag in his hands, forcing Taeil to pause the game, that someone speaks up.

Backstory: Doyoung has been attending a class in the city that is essentially Makeup for Dummies. With only few weeks left of the spring semester, Doyoung was bored and wanted something to take his mind off school. He had gotten a coupon for the class and went for the hell of it, but he found that it was genuinely interesting and he wanted to get better. Doyoung’s test subject is usually Yuta, who smears the lipstick all over Doyoung’s face afterwards (“Gross,” says literally everyone), or Ten, who criticizes during the whole process. Neither is here, so Doyoung has to find another willing model.

“No, I refuse,” Taeyong says. Taeil snaps his fingers, nodding.

Doyoung puts his hand on his hip and waves the foundation brush in the air. “Stop overreacting, god.” He puts on an overly large, crowd-pleasing grin. “Just a little eyeshadow. Maybe some blush. Come _on_ , TY! I need practice!”

“Get Donghyuck to do it!”

Coincidentally Donghyuck, Jeno, and Jisung are taking out chips and salsa for the rest of the boys while Doyoung struggles to recruit a model. All of them are still in their school uniforms, except they have their shirts untucked and unbuttoned. Plus, Donghyuck is wearing his tie like a bandana and Jisung has on a backwards snapback. They snicker as Doyoung continues to whine.

“Not happening, hyung,” sings Donghyuck. “I’ll gladly offer Mark hyung or Jeno—”

“I’ll pass,” Jeno interrupts politely. “I’m video-chatting my pen pals today. I can’t look like a clown for that.”

Doyoung frowns. “You have such little faith in me, child.”

“I’m pretty sure you dropped Donghyuck hyung when he was a baby,” Jisung proclaims, nibbling on a tortilla chip. “Just saying.”

“Small demon, I am innocent until proven guilty. I can sue you for slander.”

Jisung cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sixteen.”

“Your case would most likely be turned down by the judiciary system, Doyoung,” Taeil points out. “It’s not worth the time and effort. It has no arguable basis.”

Lips pursed, Doyoung grumbles, “You win this round, minor.” Jisung snorts, and the kids head upstairs with their snacks. “I have never felt so Attacked.”

“Doyoung, no one will let you do it,” Taeil surmises. “Give it a rest.”

“Put your cosmetic shit away,” adds Taeyong. Doyoung sneers.

Sicheng sets the controller down and raises his hand. “What about me, hyung? I’ll be your volunteer,” he proclaims, and Doyoung jumps for joy. Taeyong gives him a puzzled look. “I wanna try,” he says, shrugging.

“I stand corrected,” Taeil declares. He looks at his feet. “Well, I sit corrected. I am not standing.”

Doyoung grabs Sicheng’s arm and pulls him off the couch. “Let’s go to the bathroom. The lighting is better there.” He pauses before turning down the hallway. “Taeyong hyung, your boyfriend is going to look gorgeous after his makeover. Eleven out of ten, guaranteed.”

Taeyong takes Sicheng’s spot and controller. “Please bring him back in one piece,” he sighs. “That’s how I like him.” Sicheng bites back a smile, and Doyoung does an _okay_ sign while simultaneously gagging.

In the bathroom, Doyoung makes Sicheng sit on the toilet seat as he sets up his equipment. He lays out a gray towel and lines up brushes of all sizes onto it. There are also tubes that Sicheng assumes are lipstick, eyeliner, or mascara, though Sicheng can’t tell which is which. Before Doyoung does anything, he washes his hands and inspects his canvas aka Sicheng’s face. There are small areas of regular breakouts, bumps that never truly go away, but other than that Sicheng’s skin is smooth and hydrated.

Meticulously, Doyoung starts to prepare Sicheng’s face. He applies touches of BB cream all over, spreading the liquid evenly. He readies a pad of foundation and smiles.

“This is part of the makeover where I make small talk with you,” he says as he pats Sicheng’s cheek with the pad.

Sicheng hums, twisting his lips. “How are things with Yuta?”

Doyoung lets out a laugh. “I could go on for hours about that,” he says, and Sicheng motions for him to have a go at it.

As of now, Yuta and Doyoung are a great and unlikely pair, not quite romantic but still cute. Doyoung tells Sicheng about some of their recent dates, most of which involve a petty competition that Doyoung typically loses. They make bets over little things, like who pays for dinner or what desserts to order. Since Yuta is currently sick, Doyoung has been acting as a nurse for the last few days. And _no_ , not like a sexy nurse who asks Yuta to take off his shirt to check his heartbeat. Doyoung is an overbearing, strict nurse who wraps Yuta in three blankets and forces him to drink three tall glasses of water every hour. Definitely not sexy.

Doyoung continues doing Sicheng’s makeup as he speaks, his tongue poking out in concentration. He applies eyeshadow, the palette sunset-themed, a mixture of oranges and reds. Doyoung, holding his breath, attempts winged eyeliner on Sicheng and exhales loudly when he manages not to fuck it up. He licks the tip of his thumb to fix the line, and the result is satisfactory. He also brushes blush on Sicheng’s cheekbones and dabs red lipstick on his lips. Mascara is brief, but Doyoung applies enough for Sicheng’s eyelashes to stand out.

When Doyoung is finished, tilting Sicheng’s face left and right from his chin, he puts down all his utensils and sighs, unimpressed. “Well, I made you into a hot mess, Sicheng. Pray that Taeyong doesn’t kill me.”

Sicheng checks the mirror and doesn’t know if he agrees. He looks different, clearly, but not necessarily in a bad way. His eyes are more pronounced, the color of his lips more definite. It’s like he’s wearing a mask, but his identity is still there. He’s still Dong Sicheng, just a little... touched up.

Taeyong doesn’t say that Sicheng looks like a hot mess, actually. Upon seeing Sicheng, he puts down the controller and rushes over to him, expression slack-jawed. He kisses Sicheng softly and tells him he’s beautiful, and Sicheng can see a slight smudge left from the red lipstick on his bottom lip. While Taeil whistles and Doyoung literally pats himself on the back, Sicheng bashfully decides to trust his judgment.

——

Sicheng likes to believe he’s close with Jaehyun. The two are the same age, born in the same year, and have surprisingly compatible personalities. When Jaehyun has a problem, he texts Sicheng and asks for advice. Sicheng either texts back or calls with some words of wisdom he can come up with on the spot. He and Jaehyun are bros, and when Sicheng gets a call at midnight from Jaehyun’s phone but hears Taeil’s voice instead he knows something’s up.

According to Taeil, there is a Situation on this dreary Thursday night, night sky overcast and air humid. Taeyong and Sicheng take a taxi to the club Taeil sings at downtown. Taeil had said over the phone that he and Jaehyun are at the bar, and that’s exactly where they find them. Jaehyun is slumped on the counter, surrounded by empty shots, with Taeil sitting beside him, rubbing his back with his lips thinned. The music isn’t that loud and it’s relatively empty, so Sicheng can hear Jaehyun’s loud wailing as they walk towards them.

“Okay, so _what_ if I’m in love with Johnny hyung? He’s, like, straight. Super straight. Everyone from America is super straight. I read it on the news once. There aren’t any gay or bisexual or whatever non-hetero humans in the States. It was a scientist who said it, too. I trust the news and science.”

Taeil sees his friends approach — Sicheng sitting on the other side of Jaehyun, Taeyong standing — and gives them an acknowledging nod. “All of that is most certainly untrue,” he tells Jaehyun, “and I think you should be aware of that. That’s not even real science.”

“It _doesn’t matter_ ,” groans Jaehyun, shaking his head. “Johnny hyung is way, way, _way_ out of my league.” He brings up his head, and Sicheng can tell by the high flush of his cheeks that he’s had way, way, _way_ too much to drink. “Have you seen him? Youngho John Suh? Even his name sounds perfect. He has the face of a model and the heart of— of— of something that has a big heart.”

“A whale,” supplies Sicheng. (Animals are on his vocabulary list this week.)

“He’s not wrong,” Taeyong says.

Jaehyun’s expression is torn between confusion and gratitude. He nods slowly. “Okay, Sicheng, thank you. A heart of a whale.” He chokes back a cry, biting his lip. “A _perfect_ whale.”

“Has he been like this all night?” Sicheng asks Taeil.

“Not exactly,” Taeil says. “At ten, he was talking about Johnny’s quote-unquote ‘special skills’ to the bartender, which included the infamous parrot impression. At eleven, he gave a whole novel on Johnny’s attractiveness. Eyes, nose, lips — the whole Taeyang package. I tuned out when he started talking about his height.”

“And midnight is self-loathing time,” Taeyong concludes, clapping Jaehyun on the shoulder.

Taeil nods solemnly. “Seems like it. He won’t even give himself a break.”

Jaehyun mutters monotonously, “I am trash. Garbage. Municipal waste. Put me out on the curb where I belong.” He rubs a shot glass with his thumb. “My best friend is the recycling bin.”

“See? Pitiful.” Taeil sighs. “I already got enough blackmail footage for the next year, but now it’s just pathetic.” He pats Jaehyun’s back. “Our Jung Jaehyun, reduced to a blubbering mess because of one (1) Johnny Suh.”

As Jaehyun pouts, laying his cheek on the counter, Sicheng asks, “What’s the plan? He’s sad.”

“First things first, get him out of here. I don’t even know how he’s buying drinks,” Taeil declares.

“Credit card,” moans Jaehyun. Taeil is thankful he knows the bartender, because had it been anyone else the charges on Jaehyun’s card would’ve gone through the roof.

Taeil explains more of the Situation as they get Jaehyun outside, Sicheng and Taeyong supporting him by the arms. Since he sings at this club, he was able to see Jaehyun moping at the bar after he finished his performance. Taeil came to keep him company, and he heard Jaehyun’s troubles. Jaehyun’s troubles, unsurprisingly, are all based around Johnny Suh.

Everyone in their friend group had a hunch around Valentine’s Day of Jaehyun’s crush, despite his adamant denial. After he and Johnny went on their birthday hangout, things had been noticeably different when they hung out with the rest of them. Whatever had transpired between them changed their behavior drastically. Jaehyun transforms into a shy, demure kid who watches Johnny from the corner of his eye, subtle glances and smiles to himself. It’s like watching a scene out of a cheesy drama.

And Johnny is no better! Johnny, no matter what he thinks of himself, isn’t the smoothest petal in the rosebush. He’s awkward and clumsy, and when he looks at Jaehyun it’s for too long, like he’s in a trance, mesmerized. The moment someone tries to get his attention he fumbles over his words, hurriedly fixes his hair, and chuckles out of context. Johnny, as an NCT agent, is a tech-junkie who can decode nearly any puzzle and can predict the changing rates of currency on a global scale. Johnny, as the guy who’s in love with his best friend, can barely unscrew a pickle jar.

Sicheng wonders how in the world they haven’t seen it yet.

Jaehyun hiccups suddenly and digs his heels into the ground. He stops, stares blankly at his friends, and questions, “Who are you? Where are we going?” He gasps. “Holy shit, I’m being kidnapped. No, _adultnapped_.” He begins to squirm as he yells, “What’s the number for 119? I’m being abducted, holy shit.”

Waving around his fists, Jaehyun tries to flail out of his friends’ grip but ultimately fails. Taeyong dodges his hand easily and has to deflect him from punching Sicheng in the jaw. Taeil hastily shushes Jaehyun before someone actually calls the police, which would not work in their favor. Public intoxication is a misdemeanor they would not want a fine for (and Taeyong thinks the police are a bunch of dweebs with nicer uniforms than him).

“Why are you like this,” huffs Taeyong, flicking Jaehyun’s forehead for good measure. Jaehyun stops fussing and whimpers.

Taeil says, “Heartbreak, Lee Taeyong. Predetermined heartbreak with no evidence to support it. Truly a crime in romance.”

“You’re so weird,” Sicheng laughs. Taeil grins, shrugging. “Why did you call me, hyung? Not that I mind, but I’m curious.”

“You’re the second most recent message on Jaehyun’s phone,” Taeil answers.

“Who’s the first?”

“Hint: stiff as a board and the victim of Jaehyun’s affections.” Taeyong snorts at the description, and Taeil adds, “Jaehyun has been drunk texting for the last hour. For Jaehyun’s sake, I only read seven of them.”

“Wow, hyung,” Taeyong gawks.

Taeil raises his hands innocently. “What? There were over fifteen! I wasn’t going to read a majority, so I kept it one less.”

“Like that makes it any better.”

They take Jaehyun back to his dorm via taxi. Doyoung comes to the door with irritation etched clearly on his face. The first thing he does is hit Jaehyun on the head, and the second is bring him inside and push a jug of water into his hands. Jaehyun drinks it like a baby’s bottle, curled on his bed in the fetal position. Taeil, Sicheng, and Taeyong leave Jaehyun in the ever capable hands of Doyoung, expecting an interesting development for the upcoming day.

——

“ _I need you to tell me if I fucked up._ ”

Sicheng puts a yellow tab on the page for volume approximation in his calculus textbook. Finals are next week, and he’s doing all that he can to study for them. The library is packed with students like himself, reviewing study guides or getting last minute tutoring. Sicheng has two classes he has to take a written final for, and it’s impossible for him to get anything done at home, which is why he’s at the library. Taeyong is napping on the other side of the table; he’s graduating in less than a month and only has to worry about his senior project, which is essentially perfected — a collaborative effort involving his and Hansol’s dance skills with Taeil’s vocal accompaniment.

Jaehyun’s call comes as no surprise. Right now it’s one p.m, which is the opportune time for a guy who got himself shitfaced to wake up. Jaehyun’s voice is scratchy, rough like sandpaper. There is a sense of urgency in his voice and Sicheng can easily understand why.

Sicheng holds the phone to his ear and talks quietly. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, and Jaehyun groans.

“ _Seriously? Damn. Okay, Sicheng, I need you to be more specific_.”

“You drank a lot,” begins Sicheng, and then he delves deeper from there. He summarizes what Jaehyun had done at the club, from his sobbing to his drunken rants about Johnny to his declaration of war against every bike rack in the city. Every time Sicheng says Johnny’s name, Jaehyun does a little whine and there’s a thump on the other end of the line. When he finishes, Sicheng also asks, “Are you at the dorm? Have you called anyone else?”

“ _I’m in bed, yeah. I tried calling Taeyong hyung and Taeil hyung, but neither of them picked up_.”

“Taeyong hyung is sleeping right now,” Sicheng says, taking a glance at Taeyong. He’s resting on his arms, hair fluffy, snoring. Sicheng smiles to himself.  “As for Taeil hyung... I don’t know.”

Abruptly, Jaehyun sounds a distressed, guttural moan. “ _This sucks. My life sucks._ ”

“Your life doesn’t suck, Jaehyun.”

“ _Yeah, it does. You know why?_ ” (Jaehyun does not wait for Sicheng to take a guess.) “ _I drunk texted Johnny hyung! Like? What the hell, drunk me? I can’t believe half the things I wrote! It’s horrifying! This has to be the worst mistake of my college career._ ”

That does suck, Sicheng won’t sugarcoat it. He can see Jaehyun’s predicament, and he attempts to offer words of encouragement.

“Jaehyun, this is my opinion. I think... you need to make mistakes to figure out if they’re really mistakes. If you never make the mistake, how can you know it was wrong to make? What if it turns out being right? Say, I tell myself not to eat a new flavor of ice cream because it’s unhealthy, but I decide to eat it anyway and it’s turns out to be my new favorite.” Sicheng shrugs. “How would I have known if I hadn’t tried? You never know.”

“ _That’s really fake-deep, but I get what you mean_ ,” says Jaehyun. He sighs once more. “ _Sicheng, I called him the ‘Johnny Depp of Korea.’ Sicheng, I’m an embarrassment to my country._ ”

“Yeah,” Sicheng agrees, seeing no gain in lying. Jaehyun huffs petulantly. “You should just talk to him. Things will work out, I know it. Johnny hyung will understand.”

“ _Kill me_ ,” cries Jaehyun.

Rolling his eyes, Sicheng signs off, “Good luck, Jung Jaehyun.” He hangs up the phone, Jaehyun’s moans ringing in his ear.

Sicheng continues to study. Like a hibernating bear, Taeyong wakes up from his own snoring, startled by the growling in his throat. He looks up, movements lethargic. Sicheng pats his head down, telling him to sleep for a bit more, and he gladly obliges. Sicheng decides he can fill him in on Jaehyun’s situation later.

——

Later that night, Sicheng ponders what he’d said to Jaehyun. He’s brushing his teeth when he remembers it, rinsing out his mouth and glancing at his reflection.

_If you never make the mistake, how can you know it was wrong to make?_

He pauses in front of the sink, biting his lip. During times like these, where he lets his mind wander into uncharted territory, he wonders if he could do it — if he could tell the truth. The truth that has him as the son of a black market dealer, a transport protected by a secret agency, and an average guy who’s head over heels for Lee Taeyong. The truth that, no matter how often he pinches himself, isn’t some lucid dream he’s been having for the last ten months.

Sicheng has gotten so good at pretending that he has to remind himself of what’s real and what’s not. He knows, for a fact, he’s horribly in love with Taeyong. The feeling has bloomed inside him like an evening primrose in the light of the moon, unstoppable until the sun shines its rays and the petals must shy away.

What if he tells Taeyong? What if he tells Taeyong that he’s in love with him?

It’s honestly laughable. Taeyong is an agent whose whole purpose is to protect Sicheng. They had become “boyfriends” to ensure Sicheng’s safety. The moments that take Sicheng’s breath away are nothing more than job security for Taeyong, making it look _real_ when it’s not. A confession wouldn’t mean anything for Taeyong, because he doesn’t share the same sentiments as Sicheng.

But, again, how can Sicheng think that way when he hasn’t even done anything?

No one can live forever. Modern medicine can only do so much, and according to Yuta cryogenic sleep is still science-fiction. Everyone has a time limit. Life is short. Things are always changing, and Sicheng doesn’t want to live with regrets.

Sicheng doesn’t want to regret loving Taeyong.

He gets out of the bathroom and goes to his room, readying for sleep. He grabs Jiayou and stops just before climbing onto bed. He stops and thinks. Taking a small step back, and then another, he finds himself walking towards the room across the hall. Sicheng hesitates, but he knocks on the door.

“It’s open.”

Sicheng lets himself in and sees Taeyong, sitting against his headboard, holding his phone in the dark room. “Taeyong hyung,” he calls, gripping Jiayou tightly. “Can I— Can I sleep with you?”

Taeyong asks, “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing.” Sicheng is nervous, more nervous than he’s ever been with Taeyong, and he hopes it doesn’t show. He hugs Jiayou. “Company. I thought it would be nice to have company.”

Thankfully, Taeyong doesn’t turn him away, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “Okay,” he says, pulling back the covers. “I’m not sleeping yet. I’m playing this game until I reach the next level, but that doesn’t look like it’s happening anytime soon.”

Sicheng goes knee-first onto the bed and lets his head hit the pillow, looking up at Taeyong. “That’s bad for your eyes, hyung.”

Taeyong pulls the blanket over them both and says, “Yeah, I know. It’s a bad habit, what else can I say?” He slumps back on the pillow, facing Sicheng, and peeks above his screen to find Sicheng staring intently at him.

“Are you tired? I can turn it off.”

Sicheng shakes his head. “The music is nice. I can fall asleep to it,” he hums.

“If you say so,” Taeyong says, going back to his game.

This comfortable silence, this serene atmosphere. Sicheng wonders what Taeyong would say if he confessed, right here and now. If it slipped past his lips, unable to be stopped, and Sicheng had no way to take it back, how would Taeyong react?

Taeyong catches him staring again and pinches his nose, tells him to sleep, and Sicheng laughs.

(Tomorrow. Sicheng will tell him tomorrow.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“color” by melodyday](https://youtu.be/ZKfpMkDk87I) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	14. raindrops touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sicheng folds his hands, staring at his knuckles. “Wow,” he says. He looks up. “Wow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pd101 made me Really Emo

The sheets smell like lemon. Pressed close to Sicheng’s nose, he can feel the softness of the fabric rub against his skin. He leans closer to it, and in the process he hits his forehead on Taeyong’s back. He makes a face, but then he gets an idea, drowsily smiling to himself.

Sicheng splays his left hand on Taeyong’s back and begins to trace letters with his right index finger. At first, he starts off with simple Korean letters. He gets through half the alphabet before he gives up and moves onto Chinese. He writes his name, Taeyong’s name, and then phrases that come to mind, ones he hasn’t been able to say for a while. When he draws the last stroke for _I love you_ , Taeyong stirs and groans quietly.

“Morning,” Sicheng greets, hushed. He’s positive he hadn’t said it in Korean, but he’s too lazy to correct himself.

Taeyong rolls onto his side, pulling Jiayou from under him and hugging it. “I can’t speak Mandarin,” he says, cracking open an eye, “but mornin’ to you, too.”

“Hi, Taeyong hyung.”

“Hm.”

Sicheng pokes Taeyong’s cheek. “You’re soft,” he says.

Taeyong pouts, lifting up his arm. “I work out,” he declares. He flexes his bicep and makes Sicheng poke it. “See? This is all muscle.”

“Soft,” chuckles Sicheng, and Taeyong scoffs. “Like pudding. No, like a marshmallow.”

“And what about you? Are you a marshmallow, too?”

Sicheng twists his lips. “I’m more like a pretzel.”

“A _soft_ pretzel,” Taeyong adds playfully, squishing Sicheng’s cheeks, “with salt.”

The statement makes Sicheng snicker. Taeyong reaches out to fix Sicheng’s hair, letting the strands lay straight. Sicheng’s heart beats erratically in his chest as he watches the affectionate nature of Taeyong’s actions. Jiayou is nuzzled between them, and the positioning is reminiscent to when they’d slept with Jinju. It makes Sicheng feel warm.

“Taeyong hyung,” he says.

“Mm.”

“Thank you.”

Taeyong smiles. “Why are you always thanking me?”

Sicheng bites his bottom lip. “You... do so much for me, and it means a lot. I’m thankful. That’s why. Actually, I—” His stomach growls, and he places his hand on it, not knowing whether to feel disappointed or relieved at the interruption. “Ah, I’m hungry.”

“Let’s fix that,” chuckles Taeyong.

They decide to head out for breakfast. There’s a bistro that serves western food across town; Taeyong says they have the best hashbrowns. When they arrive, the waiter seats them outside per Sicheng’s request. It’s a nice day out, so why not? The chairs are made of wiry metal, and the table has an umbrella covering them from the sun. There are a few others seated, chatting over plates of food.

The menus have fancy lettering, so Sicheng has to ask Taeyong how certain words are read. Some words Sicheng doesn’t know at all. It’s hard for Taeyong to describe foods to Sicheng, so he searches images on his phone to show to him. Sicheng orders crepes, topped with whipped cream and strawberries; Taeyong orders a steak and cheese omelet. They get a handful of sides to share: mixed fruit, hashbrowns, and a short stack of pancakes. Taeyong slathers the pancakes with an unholy amount of syrup and powdered sugar, and Sicheng has to scrape half of it off to stomach it.

(“Did you really need to drown the poor pancakes?” asks Sicheng, frowning.

“I have low blood sugar. I do this for my health, Sicheng.” Taeyong pops a pancake piece into his mouth, grinning. “And it tastes better this way.” Sicheng wrinkles his nose, unconvinced.)

While they wait for their food, Sicheng and Taeyong fall into conversation. Taeyong tells Sicheng how he needs to have another practice with Hansol and Taeil for their senior project. He knows that they’ve finished producing and choreographing, but he wants to make sure they’re wholly prepared. Sicheng sympathizes with him, reassures him that they’ll do great. Smiling, Taeyong also wishes him well on his finals.

When the food arrives, Sicheng takes pictures of his and Taeyong’s plates. He takes a bite out of his crepe, hums, and lets the subtle sweetness spread across his tongue. Taeyong takes a bite, too, and ends up taking most of it from Sicheng. Sicheng, in turn, steals more than half of Taeyong’s omelet. While the sides are for the both of them, they also have a brief scuffle over a cantaloupe piece but share the rest fairly.

Almost all the dishes are cleared when Taeyong’s phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket. He checks it, sighs, and places it on the table. Sicheng puts the call on speakerphone.

“ _Good morning, my beautiful people!_ ” Johnny sings, full of energy. “ _It’s a lovely Saturday in late spring. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and I’ve had seven cups of coffee. Life is good. I think I can hear colors, but life is definitely good._ ”

Taeyong exchanges a mildly worried look with Sicheng.

“Seven?” Sicheng gasps.

“ _I was very stressed for the last few days. Very personal stuff. You wouldn’t want to know._ ”

“That reminds me,” Taeyong says, popping a grape in his mouth. “How’s your thing with Jung Jaehyun?”

 _“Oh, it’s awesome! He’s an eager kisser, but I like his enthusiasm! Wow, I’m so in—_ ” Johnny cuts himself off abruptly. “ _Wha— How did— I haven’t even—_ ” He stammers, bumbling over his words. “ _We’ve been dating for, like, half a day. Where is your chill? Do you have cameras in my apartment? That’s creepy, man!_ ”

“When Jaehyun had his crisis, he talked to Sicheng. I got the news secondhand,” Taeyong explains as Sicheng giggles. “Also, I’m not gonna install security on you. All the footage would be on you singing Selena Gomez songs and making coffee at five a.m.”

“ _Accurate._ ” Johnny takes a long pause. “ _No, but! That’s not why I called!_ ”

“Why _did_ you call, hyung?” asks Sicheng, mouth full. Taeyong chides for him to swallow, which he grudgingly does.

 _“I need you at headquarters ASAP. I got news._ ” Johnny takes another elongated pause before he continues, _“It’s about Sicheng._ ”

Sicheng’s fork clatters on the plate as it slips from his grasp. The commotion around them muffles the sound, but Taeyong notices and takes his hand, concerned. Sicheng drops his voice to a discrete whisper.

“Did— Did my father find out I’m in Seoul?”

Johnny replies, “ _I feel like this would be better explained in person. And, well, not on speakerphone. There’s nothing life-threatening, but I think you’d want to hear it now. You sort of have to. I’ll meet you there, so come quickly!_ ”

The call ends, and Sicheng is left with a racing heart and three blueberries. He looks to Taeyong, who’s already calling the waiter for the check, and squeezes his hand.

——

Visiting NCT headquarters on Saturday is a normal occurrence for Taeyong and Sicheng. Visiting NCT headquarters on Saturday after Johnny gives them a cryptic message is not normal. In fact, it’s _ab_ normal (Sicheng had learned how to say that in Korean yesterday). Sicheng is bouncing his leg during the entire taxi ride, trembling with nervous energy. It’s so distracting that, at one point, the driver turns around and snaps, “Quiet down or I’ll run a red light.”

NCT headquarters isn’t on fire, when they get there, which Sicheng had been imagining for some reason. Joohyun greets them when they enter, like usual, and tells them that Johnny is waiting for them in conference room #4, unlike usual. Sicheng has never even heard of any conference rooms, much less Johnny ever “waiting for them.” He’s sure it shows on his face, because Joohyun points them in the direction of the staircase leading to the second floor.

Taeyong leads the way as Sicheng climbs the steps behind him, sliding his hand along the railing. The second floor is much like the first, where there are cubicles and desks lined up in neat rows. Off to the side are separate rooms, which Sicheng assumes are the conference rooms. Taeyong walks down the hall until he reaches the fourth and last one, knocking once before opening its door.

The setting is intimidating for Sicheng. There’s a long table with dozen swivel chairs, and Johnny is sitting at the head of it. He resembles the rich son of a CEO, pressing his fingers together like a contemplating villain, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows. There is a manila folder in front of him, stuffed with papers, with Sicheng’s name taped on it in English, Korean, and Chinese. A banner hangs on the wall behind him that says _Congrats! It’s a BOY!_ in sky blue.

Taeyong and Sicheng sit in the chairs across from Johnny, wary. Obviously, Sicheng is confused.

“I don’t understand, hyung,” he says slowly.

“This—” Taeyong gestures to the banner, “—is for a baby shower. Last I checked, Johnny, we’re all ovary-free adults here. So I’m... also lost.”

Johnny crosses his arms. “Hey, the party store didn’t exactly have ‘congrats on the capture of your birth father.’ Trust me, I asked. I would’ve gotten cake, too, had I not already blown my nonexistent budget that I put together an hour ago.”

Sicheng makes to roll his eyes, but he processes what Johnny had said a few seconds late, sees the sly smile spread on the agent’s face, and realizes the significance of his proclamation. “You’re telling me—” Johnny nods, grinning, and Taeyong’s mouth is gaping wide. “Holy shit.”

If it were any other circumstance, Taeyong would’ve scolded him for cursing and asked him where he learned it from. If it were any other circumstance, Sicheng would poke Taeyong’s side and say, “ _You_ , obviously.”

But it’s not, and Taeyong is just as speechless as Sicheng.

“Congrats!” Johnny applauds loudly and throws his arms high in the air, as if tossing invisible confetti everywhere, even letting out an undignified _woo-hoo_. “You’ve officially been transported, Sicheng! What a journey!”

Sicheng blinks at him, at Taeyong, and then struggles to formulate coherent thoughts. He starts off by asking Johnny, “What... What does that mean? Transported.”

“You can go back to China,” Taeyong answers. Sicheng stares at him until he shows a smile, but to Sicheng it feels... empty.

“Let me rephrase that,” interjects Johnny. “You’re _going back_ to China. That’s not an option for you to turn down.” He taps his nails on the folder. “There are multiple parts of this news. I should’ve led with that.”

Taeyong grumbles, “No shit, Sherlock.” Johnny clears his throat, opening up the manila folder.

“Your father was captured this morning, Sicheng. A few agents got him by surprise, thankfully with minimal bloodshed. Only one agent sustained major injuries, but she’s recovering fine. There were guns, but the only gunshot received was hers and everyone else is relatively unharmed. Your father hadn’t put up much of a fight, so he wasn’t hurt.

“Multiple files and items were recovered at your father’s main base of operation; a considerable chunk of them regard you. Little things, like photo albums from when you were small and even your birth certificate. What is most concerning is that, from the information found on site, your father and his men know that Sicheng is in Korea.”

Sicheng blanches. “Oh, no.” Taeyong squeezes his knee from underneath the table.

Johnny assures, “No need to fret. Without their leader, they need at least two to three weeks to reorient themselves. The head of your father’s organization was, well, your father. No one that we are aware of can step in at this time.

“That’s why you need to get back to China,” he concludes. “NCT China division will better protect you from there.”

They sit in silence as Sicheng absorbs all the information. His mind is reeling.

“I still have school — finals.”

“We’re scheduling you to leave after finals week,” Johnny says. “Again, your school life shouldn’t be affected negatively. You’ve been acting as a foreign exchange student, so nothing will be suspicious. Most students stay for a few years, but you can easily say it’s more cost effective to head back.” He laughs. “China is just around the corner.”

Sicheng folds his hands, staring at his knuckles. “Wow,” he says. He looks up. “Wow.”

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Johnny pats the papers. “There are two more important things that we’ve established from your father’s capture.

“First of all, your financial situation isn’t bleak. There were hidden funds stored away by your father that rightfully belong to you, and the amounts have been added to your bank account. It’s not an incredibly large sum, but it’s enough for you to stop the three jobs you had in China.”

Sicheng should be more excited, but it’s hard to react when there’s still more in the manila folder.

Johnny takes a long breath before continuing, “Sicheng, you might want to hold onto something for this next one.”

Instinctively, Sicheng grabs onto Taeyong’s hand and waits for Johnny to go on.

“We know why your mother abandoned you.”

Somewhere in the world, a baby is born. The baby is small, hasn’t even opened their eyes yet, but their mother and father are crying for them and the years to come. Their parents have imagined a lifetime of care and love, and all of a sudden it’s like they’re swimming in an ocean, waves unpredictable and ever-changing. Days can come where the waves are at a standstill, sizzling onto the sand, where the child says their first word or walks their first steps. Other days can come where the waves crash and rise as high as the clouds, when the teen rebels for the first time and returns home past curfew.

Somewhere in the world, a baby is abandoned. Sicheng prays they’ll be able to remember their parents’ names, because Sicheng can’t even remember their faces. He prays that they don’t grow up unloved, uncared for, because there is so much life to a person even when they are cast aside, because Sicheng was raised around other orphans, found friends in a country thousands of kilometers away. He prays, prays, and prays, because Sicheng is twenty and he’s about to hear why he was left on the doorstep of an orphanage all those years ago.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

“Do you want to hear this? I have to ask,” says Johnny. “You can decline. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Sicheng tightens his grasp on Taeyong’s hand, breathing unsteadily. “Yes. I want— I need to know. I’m... I’m fine.” Johnny nods.

“She and your father met without her knowing of his occupation. She was an artist in a pottery studio, and he frequently went to her shop to acquire decorations. Pots, vases, teacups. They hadn’t married, but they were engaged. There was an engagement ring found in your father’s treasures.

“When your mother was pregnant, she handled it on her own and didn’t tell anyone. She discovered the truth about your father and did not condone of it, so she raised you on her own. After moving to the countryside, she kept to herself and ran a storefront. She was able to do this for almost two years.

“Your safety was compromised as you got older. Your father was looking for her, and she had to move. She realized she couldn’t care for you and run at the same time, so she made a choice.” Johnny smiles. “She chose to save you.”

Sicheng has been trying his hardest to hold back his tears, but the dam breaks. He sobs, all hiccups and sniffles, emotions raw and spilling out from the depths of his soul. His mother loved him, _wanted_ to care for him. Johnny runs out of the room to fetch a tissue box while Taeyong rubs Sicheng’s back, whispering, “Let it out. You’re okay.”

After he’s calmed down, Sicheng dabs at his face with a tissue and asks quietly, “How could you have known all this, hyung?”

“There was an anonymous tip,” Johnny answers.

Sicheng’s eyes widen. “My mother...?”

“Possibly. Whoever it was, though, helped us greatly.” Johnny puts the papers back in the folder. “Are you ready to go home, Sicheng?”

The answer is _of course_. However, it’s stuck in Sicheng’s throat as he realizes what he’s leaving behind. All the friends he’s made, all the moments he’s experienced. Taeyong lets go of his hand, gradually and almost unnoticeable, and Sicheng knows his heart will be trapped in Seoul.

——

Finals week happens. There are signs of it all over campus, with the packed library and literal last minute review groups. The things college kids do to keep focus amaze Sicheng. One girl in his calculus class has forced herself to wear tennis shoes, instead of ten centimeter wedges, to simultaneously exercise and memorize convergence tests. Another guy comes to class with a cardboard carrier of four iced americanos, all of which he drinks in the span of seventy minutes. Even Yuta gives himself a “No Doyoung” incentive until he’s finished, which Doyoung doesn’t like but understands.

Sicheng is swamped as well, studying notes up to his knees, reading good luck fortunes the night before he has to take a test. Luckily, he completes his finals with no major troubles. He knows what he’s doing, and the nervousness doesn’t affect him enough to throw him off his game. On the last day of finals, he walks out of the classroom with his head held high, because Dong Sicheng just survived finals. _Korean_ finals.

The sense of accomplishment is short-lived.

Taeyong acts differently, but that’s to be expected. He’s busy with his own things, and aside from their walks to and from university they barely see one another. Meals are eaten separately, at different times, and Taeyong steers clear of the kitchen. Sicheng has mastered ordering takeout on his own, which feels like a pitiful triumph. Sicheng misses Taeyong, who’s always near but has never felt further away.

Taeyong’s senior project is performed at the showcase on Wednesday, and Sicheng watches in the audience with Ten. As the curtains pull back, the spotlight shines on Taeil, powerful and striking, the male standing at the center stage with only a mic stand and his voice, singing about two roads diverging. Hansol acts as the pure, silk-wearing angel, moves flowing like gusts of air with chimes and flutes amidst it. Taeyong is the edgy, chain-linked demon, dancing to harsh beats that grind and scratch. Taeil’s expression of the lyrics matches the tone and melody of the music, Taeyong and Hansol taking turns dancing, a pull and a push. The resolution of the piece has Taeil falling to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, as Taeyong and Hansol collapse, silent.

The curtains close, and the applause resounds in the auditorium. Sicheng may’ve been the one to start the standing ovation. There are two more projects left to be performed, so he and Ten wait until the whole showcase ends before sneaking backstage.

Sicheng had gotten a single carnation for each of the seniors: yellow for Taeil, orange for Hansol, and red for Taeyong. He hands them out, mouthing the colors under his breath, smiling as he gets smiles in return. Hansol and Taeil tuck the flower behind their ears, and Taeil tells Ten to take some pictures for them. Taeyong gets dragged in the pictures as well, but he’s grinning as he twirls the carnation between his fingers. Hansol takes a photo for Ten and Taeil, and following he urges Sicheng and Taeyong together for a photo, too. Ten hovers behind Hansol, directing the scene, playfully ordering the couple to liven up, grin bigger, stand closer.

“Sicheng, give Taeyong a kiss!”

And that... makes things weird. On one hand, Sicheng and Taeyong should be used to being affectionate with each other. Hugs and hand-holding, easy. Child’s play. Nothing new. On the other, they haven’t made proper eye contact since discovering Sicheng’s impending departure. They haven’t really talked at all, about his father getting captured, about Sicheng leaving, about—

About them. What are they, after all this? Are they still pretend lovers? Are they friends? Were they _ever_ friends? What are they? What does this mean?

Grabbing the front of Taeyong’s shirt, head swimming with too many emotions, Sicheng kisses Taeyong to get Ten’s teasing to stop. He hears Hansol wolf whistling as Taeyong places a hand on his cheek, presses himself closer. Taeyong tastes like spearmint gum, breath hot, lips gliding easily against Sicheng’s. It’s a kiss only meant to last a moment, but Sicheng holds on, savors it. Taeyong indulges him, following Sicheng’s sloppy movements, fumbling with his mouth yet being as gentle as always. Sicheng’s heart burns in his chest as he pulls away, Taeyong’s expression unreadable.

It feels like the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [“glow” by hello venus](https://youtu.be/NRvTfEhOiQk) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	15. knock on my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassed, Taeyong gives Sicheng a halfhearted shrug and says, “I was very, very scared of feelings.”

With finals over, Yuta and Sicheng bid Ms. Kwon, along with some other instructors, goodbye for the semester. She thanks them for all the hard work they put into her class, Sicheng especially for lending a hand as her part-timer. She gives them both her official business card and says to contact her if they ever want to perform on a professional stage over the summer. Yuta excitedly promises to call, but Sicheng regrets to inform her that he’s headed back to China.

“Next time,” she commands, and Sicheng laughs, unable to say otherwise.

The two foreigners go on their last coffee run, Yuta treating, while Yuta walks Sicheng home. Taeyong isn’t with them, having to do extensive paperwork for Sicheng’s transport at headquarters. He texts Sicheng every five minutes, messages like _You’re not tired?_ or _I got ten more pages to go_ or even excessively simple notes like _TT_. Sicheng sends back fitting emojis or stickers, finding it hard to type out full phrases for more reasons than one.

They’re about halfway there when Yuta asks Sicheng seriously, “Did you get into a fight?”

Now, Sicheng is a pacifist. The only times he gets involved in fights are when someone is bullying the other orphans and he has to defend them. Whenever trolls online would pick fights while he plays League of Legends, Sicheng never rises to the bait. Verbal arguments are rare as well, given he’s amiable with everyone around him and is an amateur at Korean. He doesn’t get into fights, so what makes Yuta ask?

“With who?” says Sicheng, confusion evident in his voice.

Yuta sips at his passionfruit iced tea, sighing. “You and Taeyong hyung,” he elaborates, and _oh_. Sicheng guiltily gnaws on his straw. “You look worn out, plus your dark circles are horrible. You’ve been quiet for the whole walk and haven’t once said a thing about the pigeons. You love pigeons, Sicheng.”

“Ah, no, it’s just—” Sicheng looks down at his shoelaces. “Nightmares. I don’t know.”

Yuta sighs heavily. “That’s no good. Do you want a dreamcatcher? I know a girl who can hook you up,” he offers, but Sicheng turns him down with a shake of the head. “What is it, then? Do you want to talk about it?”

Sicheng slows his step, biting his lip. He stops and sits on a bench, cradling his coffee in both hands, as Yuta settles beside him. There are pigeons hopping in front of them, pecking the unidentifiable crumbs off the ground. Sicheng takes a few moments to get his thoughts together before speaking.

“Have you ever wondered... If you lived your life differently, didn’t meet the people you know now, would you still lo— be dating Doyoung hyung?”

“Oh. That’s intense.” Yuta exhales, rubbing his neck. “I haven’t come to a crisis like that, but I can see where you’re coming from.”

Sicheng raises his eyebrows, shocked. “You can?”

Yuta nods. “You’re a foreigner, who hasn’t been in Korea long at all. China is your home. If you never came to Korea, there would’ve been no way for you to meet Taeyong. Your lives started on different planes of the world.” He grins. “The same thing goes for me and Doyoung, but we found each other. Luckily.”

“Don’t you ever get worried?” asks Sicheng. “Doyoung hyung could have gone out with any other guy in Korea, but he chose you.”

Pursing his lips, Yuta huffs, “Am I offended? Yes, but I’ll let it slide.” Sicheng chuckles, sheepish. Yuta crosses his legs, sighing. “Do you think that your relationship with Taeyong hyung is inconvenient for him?”

“No. Yes. Sometimes.” Sicheng stares at a pigeon coming close to his foot and frowns. “Taeyong hyung and I are so close, which is why it was convenient to be a couple. Does that make sense?” He swallows a dry laugh, looking down. “I think I’m an inconvenience to him now.”

“Have you talked about how you’re feeling with him?” Yuta asks, stern. Sicheng shakes his head. “When are you leaving for China? You should talk it out soon.”

Sicheng’s voice is muffled as he answers, “Tuesday.”

Yuta’s eyes widen. “You’re going to miss graduation?” Sicheng hides his face. “You’re scared. You’re running away. You _need_ to talk with Taeyong hyung. He _needs_ to know how you’re feeling. This isn’t good for either of you — your relationship especially. If you want to maintain a long-distance relationship, you have to effectively communicate.”

“What if— What if I can’t do that?”

“I’m sure you can! A long-distance relationship takes hard work and patience, but you and—”

“No, hyung,” Sicheng says, stressed. “I’m talking about a _relationship_.”

Without prompting Yuta hugs Sicheng, wrapping his arms around Sicheng’s middle, hands patting Sicheng’s back. Sicheng lays his chin on Yuta’s shoulder, albeit an awkward fit since they’re sitting, and tries to relax in his friend’s hold. When Sicheng is calm enough, Yuta pulls back and pinches his cheek lightly.

“Do you love Taeyong hyung?” he asks, sincere.

Ears reddening, Sicheng nods. “Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

Sicheng bites his lip and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly.

“That’s where you start,” Yuta says, holding Sicheng by the shoulders. He ruffles Sicheng’s hair when his expression doesn’t let up. “You’ll get through this.”

Sighing, Sicheng kicks out his leg. Another pigeon comes by him and pecks at his shoelace. He’ll take that as a sign for good luck.

——

Taeil, Hansol, and Taeyong are the seniors of the friend group. All of them are set to graduate on Thursday morning, capes and gowns prepared. They spend Sunday evening at Hansol’s favorite barbecue restaurant, taking up a table for nine comprised of the seniors, Johnny, Sicheng, Yuta, Doyoung, Ten, and Jaehyun. Taeil and Taeyong take it upon themselves to grill the meat, snapping tongs at the younger ones who try to take the pork belly off the fire too early.

Sicheng sits between Taeyong and Yuta. He waits quietly for the meat to cook, the tips of his chopsticks in his mouth, one foot tucked under his thigh. There are enough people to keep conversations going without him having to contribute. Yuta keeps casting him curious, probing looks between him and Taeyong, but each time Sicheng wordlessly shakes his head in response.

He hasn’t talked with Taeyong yet — not seriously, like he should. The timing isn’t right. Even when they talk, Taeyong keeps it clipped. Sicheng doesn’t know what else to say.

At dinner, everyone has a good time reminiscing. The food is great, and as the youngest at the table Sicheng makes amateur lettuce wraps for everyone. Drinking is a must, too, but Sicheng goes easy. He only has one glass of beer that he works on for the whole night. Johnny and Jaehyun have shots of soju, both with high alcohol tolerance, while everyone else has some combination of beer, soda, or water (not at the same time, because that would be gross).

Doyoung talks the most, no surprise there. Face red, he gushes on and on about his beloved senior Taeil and how much he’s helped him through college. All the love and support, late night cram sessions, shared meals. Doyoung may’ve had the tiniest crush on the elder, at one point in time. Yuta shows little sign of jealousy; Doyoung basically sits on his lap the whole time, which makes up for it. Taeil, leisurely sipping wine, graciously accepts all praises.

That leads to a whole session of thanking one another. Yuta thanks Hansol for being a great dance mentor, Johnny thanks Doyoung for keeping schedules organized, Ten thanks Yuta for being a foreigner buddy, Jaehyun thanks Sicheng for pushing him to confess to Johnny, Taeil thanks Johnny for being tall (?), and Sicheng—

Sicheng says a short thank you to Taeyong for treating him well while he’s been in Korea. It’s not much compared to the others’, but Taeyong seems to understand all the words Sicheng can’t say and smiles.

It’s a nice get-together that makes Sicheng’s impending departure more melancholic, but he doesn’t cry. Someone else does, however, eight soju shots in with his head lolled on Jaehyun’s chest.

(Hint: he can speak six languages, resembles a giraffe, and has an odd fascination with scented candles after Jaehyun had gifted him a bundle from Bath & Body Works.)

——

When Sicheng videocalls the kids back in China and tells them he’s coming back, the first thing he hears is Chenle’s ear piercing scream at max volume. Taeyong, as he helps Sicheng pack, and Renjun, sitting beside Chenle, visibly wince. Sicheng is used to it.

Chenle slaps his cheeks, leaning close to the webcam so only one eye is shown. “ _You’re coming home!? Really!?_ ” he shrieks, and Renjun has to pull him back so they can both fit into the frame.

“Yeah, can you believe it? My plane is leaving tomorrow morning,” Sicheng says.

Chenle flails his arms wildly, to Renjun’s dismay, and shouts, “ _Wah, ge, this is so sudden! Are you done with school? Are you moving back to the dorms? We have_ so much _to tell you! Sicheng ge! Ahhh! AHHH!!!_ ”

“Calm down,” chuckles Sicheng. “Kun ge is picking me up at the airport. You can ask him if you can come along, too, so you can talk my head off on the way home.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” beams Renjun. His hair has faded from traffic light red to auburn. He talks quieter than Chenle, after smacking his hand over the younger boy’s mouth, and assures Sicheng they’ll be waiting for him with appropriate gifts.

They don’t talk for long, or rather they can’t. Renjun has to finish a watercolor assignment and Chenle has dish duty today. Sicheng tells them, “See you soon!” and ends the call, closing his laptop and going back to packing.

Sicheng clears his whole closet out, throwing all the clothes onto the bed, as Taeyong grabs them to fold on the floor. Compared to when he first arrived, Sicheng’s wardrobe has grown fivefold. Nothing has ever really matched, but the assortment is just his style. He doesn’t know how Taeyong can organize everything so perfectly to fit in just two suitcases. Sicheng watches, unable to hide his amazement.

“You need to learn how to fold your dress shirts,” Taeyong chides, showing Sicheng a hasty example.

“Hey, I’m naturally messy! I can barely keep my textbooks in order,” Sicheng whines, plopping on the edge of the bed. He smiles. “That’s why I have you.”

Taeyong laughs, shaking his head, as he folds a pair of Sicheng’s jeans. Sicheng can see the tips of his ears turning red, subtly hiding his face. It gives Sicheng an odd feeling of satisfaction, embarrassing Taeyong like this. When’s the next time they can just poke fun at one another, sitting in their home, no worries plaguing them? When’s the next time Sicheng’s heart will be this full because of Taeyong?

Sicheng has one night left in Korea. He has to confront Taeyong, has to tell him. It’s now or never. Sicheng won’t, can’t wait any longer.

He takes a deep breath.

“What would you say if I said I fell in love with you?”

Taeyong freezes. He stops folding a pair of socks and glances at Sicheng, who waits anxiously for a reply. There’s that unreadable look in his eye, one that Sicheng can’t decipher.

“I’d... tell you that you made a mistake,” he says, quiet.

Sicheng’s heart skips a beat, and not in the good way. It starts to hurt. “Why?”

“Because we’ve been acting all this time,” Taeyong declares. It keeps hurting. “I was never your boyfriend.”

That’s the truth, Sicheng can’t deny that. Ten, eleven, twelve months of fake dating, Sicheng is starting to forget. However, Taeyong is avoiding his eyes like there’s more to the story, and Sicheng isn’t going to leave Seoul with words unsaid. He’s about to lay all his cards on the table, betting every chip like he’s got nothing to lose but everything to gain.

“Wasn’t there a time — a split second — where you thought you had feelings for me? Even if we didn’t start off with the truth, didn’t you feel _something_ along the way?”

Taeyong runs his fingers through his hair. “We... We aren’t a love story, Sicheng. You’re my friend and I— I can’t do this. I can’t do this to you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“How much was—” Sicheng hates how he has to stop, rack his brain for the word, the only one that matters, the only one Sicheng needs. Taeyong’s look of pity makes him bite his lip. “How much was _real_ , hyung?”

Taeyong stares straight at Sicheng, eyes dark. He clenches his jaw and looks away.

“None of it.”

Sicheng shakes his head. That can’t be.

“I’m protecting you, Sicheng. Everything I’m doing— It’s all for your sake, not mine. NCT gave me this job, and I have to follow it.” Taeyong inhales sharply. “After the threat is eliminated, you go back home and I stay here. That’s my job. This has always been my job.”

“You’re lying,” Sicheng seethes. He can feel his fingernails dig into his palms, but the pain is nothing compared to this unprecedented heartbreak. It’s worse than a rejection. He won’t cry — not for this.

“Sicheng,” Taeyong says, and Sicheng hates how he calls his name. Hates the way his heart twists and aches. “That’s how it works. Being an agent, I have to lie.”

Standing, Sicheng squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hyung, you’re a coward. And I know that you’re a coward because I am, too. I’ve known I loved you for months. Instead of telling you outright, I hid everything. I was scared of what you would say. I still am.” Sicheng sighs shakily. “I want to believe what you’re saying, that you have no feelings for me, but I can’t, hyung. There’s this— this hope. I can’t make it go away.”

Taeyong looks down, silent. He finishes folding the last of Sicheng’s clothes and zips the suitcase shut. He stands and meets Sicheng’s gaze.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow. Your flight is at nine, and Johnny is picking us up at seven. You should get some sleep.”

Sicheng’s shoulders slump. There’s no emotion in Taeyong’s words, no fond calling.

“Oh,” Sicheng says, unbelievably empty. He can’t really feel anything, so he just nods. “Goodnight, hyung.”

Taeyong is careful not to slam the door as he exits. It’s a subdued yet firm sound that rings in Sicheng’s ears, as if he’s submerged underwater and a bomb explodes on the surface. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

As he tries to find sleep, curled on his bed, Sicheng spends his last night in Seoul nursing a splintered heart, wondering how long it’ll take to heal.

——

At seven o’clock sharp, Johnny knocks on the front door with a cardboard holder of Starbucks coffees in his hand. Sicheng is all set with his two suitcases and backpack, having said goodbye to the apartment that he’s called home for nearly a year. He’s wearing the snapback Yuta had gotten for his birthday, the long sleeves of his jacket covering his hands. Taeyong grabs a cup as he pulls one of Sicheng’s suitcases, Johnny taking the other. Sicheng hugs the door, patting the metal, and then follows them down the elevator.

The atmosphere is terrible. Sicheng and Taeyong stand at opposite ends of the elevator, dead silent. They sip their coffees, don’t make eye contact. Sicheng picks at his nails the whole walk to the car as he’s torn between avoiding and seeking Taeyong’s attention.

Johnny, unfortunately, is stuck in the middle of it and is keenly aware. It doesn’t take a detective to notice how out of whack Taeyong and Sicheng are acting. When they get to the car, Johnny climbs into the front seat and starts it. Immediately, he rubs his arms fervently, shivering, clearly an exaggerated attempt to get his friends to talk.

“Oh, wow, I’m chilly! Weird. It’s practically summer and I’m freezing. How peculiar!” Johnny blinks as the other males give no comment. “No? Just me?”

“Just drive,” mutters Taeyong, who’s sitting behind him. Sicheng, in the passenger’s seat, wordlessly concurs.

During the car ride, Sicheng lays his head on the window and watches the scenery go by. Korea is a beautiful country, Sicheng thinks, and he wonders if he can see the cherry blossoms in China, too. The thought makes him sigh, saddened. He wants to stay, to learn and explore, but he knows he can’t.

When they arrive at the airport, Taeyong and Johnny each take one of Sicheng’s suitcases to roll. Sicheng carries his backpack, which holds his laptop, Jiayou, along with a few miscellaneous items (i.e. the snowglobe Sicheng had gotten from the aquarium, tucked safely in its box). They all go together through the baggage claim, setting the suitcases over the counter, and then head to security. Taeyong and Johnny do that agent thing where they show off their badges and get waved by.

Johnny goes to get breakfast from McDonald’s as Taeyong and Sicheng wait at the gate. They sit in seats next to one another, but Taeyong feels so far away. Sicheng stares at his profile, wondering where the time has gone.

“Taeyong hyung,” he says softly, and Taeyong turns to him, head tilted. “Can I... hold your hand?”

Immediately, Taeyong’s eyes widen. He stays silent, which starts to worry Sicheng, but then he holds out his hand and lets Sicheng interlock their fingers together. He’s cold, like always, and Sicheng grins.

“I’ll miss you,” Sicheng says, “when I leave.”

“I—” Taeyong looks down. “I will, too.” He leans back. “It was fun being your bodyguard.”

Sicheng purses his lips. He sticks his other hand in his pocket and takes a deep breath. “How do _you_ feel?” he asks, stressing the word. “You, not as an agent at NCT. _You_ , Lee Taeyong.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Taeyong says.

“It matters to me.” Sicheng squeezes his hand. “Please, hyung. I want the truth. Don’t you?”

There is a long lapse of silence where time slows down, the seconds constrained and held vice. Sicheng isn’t expecting anything, afraid to set his hopes too high, afraid to get hurt again. He asks to ask. He’s afraid, yes, but Taeyong starts to respond to him with a soft, beautiful laugh and everything falls into place.

“Ever since you came into my life, all I’ve been able to see is the good. And when the bad comes along, you’re there and already giving me a hug, letting me in with so much love and support. You accepted me so easily into your life, despite all the hardships you’ve been through, and I— I’ve never felt this way before. Sicheng, I can’t even explain how much you mean to me.

“Damn, this is cheesy,” mutters Taeyong, blushing, but Sicheng nudges him to go on.

“When we started fake-dating, I realized how bad of an actor I am. I didn’t know how to act like a boyfriend. I didn’t know how to pretend. Truth be told, I never had a mission like this before, where I had to take care of someone, and pretending to be your boyfriend added to the stress. I was scared of a lot of things — messing up, you getting hurt, feelings.”

Embarrassed, Taeyong gives Sicheng a halfhearted shrug and says, “I was very, very scared of feelings.”

“How about now?” asks Sicheng. “Still scared?”

Taeyong mumbles, “Yeah. Worst nightmare.” He lifts their connected hands to his mouth, sighing, and presses his lips to Sicheng’s fingertips. “We’re literally languages apart from one another, but it’s like you know exactly what I need. I found out that I care too much about you, and that’s... so scary. When you confessed, I— I don’t know. It dawned on me, at that moment, that you were leaving and you loved me. Truly loved me. I didn’t know how to respond.”

He glances at Sicheng. “Are you happy? I’ve said it. That was a load off my chest.”

Sicheng raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s all?” Taeyong frowns. Sicheng feigns anger, pouting. “Say that you love me, hyung. I’ve said it already. You haven’t said it yet.”

Taeyong smiles. “You won’t wait until I’m ready?”

“Well,” Sicheng starts. “I’m ready whenever you are, but I _am_ leaving for China in less than an hour. Don’t know when I’ll ever see you again. Just saying, hyung.”

Laughing, Taeyong shakes his head in disbelief. “I love you, Dong Sicheng. I really do.” Sicheng’s heart soars. “I love you so much that I don’t know what I’ll do in an empty apartment, without you singing EXO songs in the shower. I don’t know if I can eat ice cream anymore, not without two flavors. I don’t know how I’ll watch movies past midnight. Seriously, I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

Sicheng puts his head on Taeyong’s shoulder. “I’m going to China. I’m safe there.”

“I know. That’s your home. I won’t stop you,” Taeyong sighs. He smiles sadly. “And I won’t stop thinking about you.”

Sicheng reaches into his pocket and takes out the slip of paper he’s been holding since they arrived. “Five wish,” he proclaims. “Wait for me.”

Taeyong takes the paper, chuckling. “You’re really something, Sicheng.”

——

Johnny returns to the gate with sausage McMuffins and hashbrowns, holding the signature brown paper bags. He’s greeted by the sight of Taeyong peppering Sicheng’s face with kisses, Sicheng snugly wrapped in the elder’s arms, both of them whispering in each other’s ears. They look like total lovebirds, which is no different from how they’ve looked since they started “dating.” If anything, Taeyong’s grip on Sicheng’s waist is tighter and Sicheng’s laugh is louder. More open, more adoring.

They’re in love, and it’s disgusting.

Johnny promptly turns around and heads the other way. “Give them some privacy, Johnny. Be a good bro,” he muses to himself, biting into an oily hashbrown. “More McD’s for me. I should tell this to the group chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u really think i would write 60k of taewin just for it to be SAD??? i pride myself in being fluff master extraordinaire, lemme tell u...... i'm sorry this took a long time, i had to rewrite a lot of parts to make myself satisfied!! (also i wrote 20k of drabbles for pd101, so.......) i'm gonna save the rest of my ramblings for the next chapter, which is essentially an epilogue, and hopefully if there are any comments there i'll finally get to reply :DDD 
> 
> forewarning, it's gonna take a while LOL
> 
> [“knock knock” by april](https://youtu.be/wHsr05xfR5o) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


	16. a blinding island, the glittering sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you believe how sassy he is? Y’know, there was once a time where he could barely speak Korean. I taught him everything he knows, and this is how he treats me. Unbelievable. I need to learn more Mandarin to get back at him, right?”

Taeyong almost drops his phone as he pushes open the door to the apartment. His hands are full with groceries, and the pillow-sized corgi circling around his legs isn’t helping. He puts the bags onto the kitchen table and exhales loudly, placing the phone on the counter after switching it to speakerphone.

“Sorry, babe, what were you saying? I just got back home. The connection was pretty bad in the elevator.”

Sicheng’s chuckle is soft over the line. Taeyong can picture him sitting on the bench outside the auditorium, kicking out his legs and gazing at the sky, wearing mismatched socks and that hoodie he stole from Taeyong’s closet. He hums.

“ _Do you think I can meet her?_ ”

Taeyong steps over a pineapple chew toy as he puts away groceries. “Who? Beyoncé? Fan Bingbing? You’ll have to be more clear, babe. I can’t read minds.”

“ _Hyung_ ,” whines Sicheng. “ _I’m talking about my mom. My mother._ ”

Taeyong’s hand pauses at the refrigerator handle. “I don’t see why not,” he says. “China isn’t _that_ big.”

“ _Hyung!_ ”

“I’m kidding, relax.” Taeyong continues putting away groceries, careful when he picks up the carton of eggs. “Truthfully, I think you could, Sicheng. Find her. She’s definitely out there. NCT has some information, too. Ask Kun and I’m positive he’ll lend a hand. He’s got two apprentices to do his busywork now.”

“ _Yeah, but wouldn’t it be cooler to try to find her on my own? After years searching art studio after art studio in China, I come across the one in a rural town, where she works as the manager. She drops her ceramic bowl when she lays eyes on me. Even though she hasn’t seen me since I was a baby, she would just_ know _. It would be like a movie!_ ” Sicheng sighs wistfully. “ _A really, really long movie. There are a lot of art studios here._ ”

“I’d watch it,” muses Taeyong. “I’d do all I could to help, too. To make it a reality.”

“ _Of course you would, hyung._ ” Taeyong can practically hear Sicheng’s smile. “ _Have you had anything to eat yet? It’s almost four. Ah, five in Seoul. They feed you at the theater, right?_ ”

“How many times do I have to tell you? The theater treats their dancers well. I eat the same thing the main actresses and actors do. We got lunch and they let us off early. No starving the talent.”

“ _Yeah, I know. Let me worry a bit, hyung_.”

Taeyong chuckles. “I gotta grab Winnie’s food before I start cooking dinner,” he proclaims, and the corgi barks upon hearing her name. “She says hi, babe.”

Winnie had been an accidental encounter during Taeyong’s visit to China last winter. Sicheng had been showing Taeyong his favorite restaurants in the city. As they passed an alleyway, the couple had discovered a litter of young corgis — six of them, all abandoned. The puppies had whimpered and cried as they ran around the cardboard box, falling atop one another.

While Sicheng’s dorm has a strict _no pets allowed_ policy, the orphanage had been willing to keep the puppies until Sicheng and Taeyong could come up with a plan for them. The kids there had loved playing with the furry balls of energy. Chenle, despite Renjun telling him not to, had named each of the pups after fruit. Randomly, he’d shout, “Watermelon!” and at least two puppies would scurry towards him since, well, they were all sensitive to shrill noises.

The day after finding them, Sicheng and Taeyong had taken the puppies to get checkups at a local veterinarian. Luckily, the young animals passed without any trouble, no diseases or life-threatening signs of malnourishment. None of them had had their shots, though; Sicheng and Taeyong had to get them vaccinated, holding the puppies as they’d whimpered. Afterwards, they’d tried to ask around and get the puppies homes as soon as possible — Sicheng did the talking and Taeyong, not yet well-versed in Mandarin, offered moral support.

Taeyong hadn’t planned on staying for long, but he wanted to see all the puppies find homes before he went back to Seoul. The day he was supposed to leave, only five out of the six corgis had been given away. Two puppies had gone to an elderly couple, another two had gone to Sicheng’s friend in his music theory class, and the original Watermelon had gone to Kun. The only puppy left had been the smallest, most timid corgi, golden fur that stood out against her white belly. She’d often laid in Taeyong’s lap as he watched Sicheng do homework.

Without much argument from either Sicheng or Taeyong, she had ended up coming to Seoul with the agent. They named her Winnie after the famous Pooh bear, mainly because her color resembles honey, and the rest is history. She’s bilingual, listening to commands in both Mandarin and Korean, and teetering on trilingual when Johnny and Mark visit. She’s grown twice as big, but she’s still small enough for Taeyong to scoop her with one hand and place her in front of her food bowl as he pours out the kibble mix.

“ _Hello, Winnie!_ ” chirps Sicheng. “ _I’ll see you in a few days, okay? Don’t give Taeyong hyung too hard of a time!_ ” Winnie yips happily, tail wagging, as she dives into her bowl.

“ _Is anyone visiting you today, hyung?_ ”

“Mm. Doyoung and Yuta are back from Puerto Rico, so they want me to cook them authentic Korean food. They were really homesick, apparently.”

“ _Homesick? Ha! Yuta hyung is Japanese!_ ”

“He’s got two homes,” laughs Taeyong.

“ _I forget Yuta hyung is Japanese sometimes_ ,” Sicheng snickers. “ _I hope you’ll have fun third-wheeling, hyung._ ”

Taeyong scoffs as he takes out a pot. “Third-wheel? Me? Winnie is my hot dinner date, excuse you. She has a beautiful dress and everything.”

“ _If you manage to get her to wear it, I demand pictures._ ”

“Oh, you’re getting them. Just you wait.” Taeyong checks the time and takes his phone to the couch, where he sits with Winnie and presses the phone against his ear. “Is it almost time for your show?”

Sicheng hums, “ _I have five minutes until we go for warm-ups. I think Ms. Song will get me to stretch with her._ ” He sighs. “ _Wish me luck, okay?_ ”

“You’ll kill the stage. Remember to breathe. Even if you mess up, I’ll always cheer for you.”

“ _Thanks_.” The background noise on Sicheng’s end gets louder, and he talks quickly in Mandarin to a female voice. When he returns to Taeyong’s call, he says fondly, “ _I miss you, hyung._ ”

Taeyong’s heart tightens. He pets Winnie’s head and responds, “I miss you, too.”

“ _Only three more days_.”

“Are you counting down the days like we’re waiting for Christmas?” asks Taeyong, amused. “Sicheng, I’m flattered.”

“ _I’m only excited to see Winnie. Don’t get ahead of yourself._ ”

“Ouch. You’ve wounded my pride.” Taeyong smiles. “And to think I was going to cook your _favorite_ spicy rice cakes.”

“ _Wait, really? You can’t take that back! Hyung, that’s my reward for doing a good performance today! I’m holding you to that!_ _Ah, I have to go now, but I love you!_ ”

“Love you, too.”

“ _I was actually talking to Winnie, but I love to you, too, Taeyong hyung! I’ll call you again after the show is over!_ ”

After the call ends, Taeyong stares incredulously at his phone. He has a picture of him and Sicheng under the mistletoe from Christmas as his wallpaper, and he shows it to Winnie, who tilts her head to the side.

“Can you believe how sassy he is? Y’know, there was once a time where he could barely speak Korean. I taught him everything he knows, and this is how he treats me. Unbelievable. I need to learn more Mandarin to get back at him, right?”

Winnie barks, nudging his hand with her nose.

Taeyong scratches behind her ears and nods. “Yeah, I’m glad that you get me.”

——

Yawning, Taeyong walks into NCT headquarters with two boxes of donuts under his arm. Wendy had called him moments after he left the apartment and told him to pick up two dozen, not providing any reasoning. He didn’t question it and obliged; the bakery is on the way to the headquarters anyway. Also, he trusts Wendy. The donuts must be for something important.

Sooyoung, the receptionist who’s covering for Joohyun while she’s sick, greets Taeyong when he comes to the counter. She takes a Boston cream for herself before he heads downstairs, where the agents are gathered in one of the main rooms with round tables and high chairs. Johnny and Seulgi are talking, sipping on coffee, as they sit together. Wendy is stretching, counting aloud as she switches from position to position. There’s a banner on the wall, definitely courtesy of Johnny, that reads _Happy 25th Anniversary!_

“If it isn’t my mortal enemy Lee Taeyong, with a face and body intricately sculptured by God,” Johnny declares with a flourish.

“Um, no. That’s not a thing. Don’t make it a thing.” Taeyong puts the donuts on the table and gestures around. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Fresh meat!” Wendy exclaims, taking a large bite out of a rainbow-sprinkled strawberry-frosted donut. It looks like a cavity travesty waiting to happen. Something inside Taeyong, despite being an avid sweets eater himself, dies when she finishes it in two bites.

Seulgi, nibbling on a jam-filled donut, bumps Taeyong and quirks her eyebrow. “Bet you’ll never guess who.”

Taeyong frowns. “Why? Do I know them?”

“ _Know_ is a bit of an understatement here, amigo. We are well-acquainted with these new individuals,” Johnny says, smirking. “Cue our new boys in three, two—”

The doors fly open, albeit not dramatically at all. They bounce back and hit one of the kids in the face, causing him to yelp “Oh my God” in English. He has bleach blond hair, wears scuffed Air Jordans. The other boy has jet black hair and a moon shaped smile as he snickers at his companion’s fail. The two head straight for the donuts, and when Taeyong gets a good look at them he’s taken aback.

Mark and Jeno. Doyoung’s cousin Donghyuck’s friends. Taeyong is like an older brother to them, sort of, who gains their approval by feeding them. Taeyong baked cupcakes for them once, back when they were in middle school, and they’ve looked up to him ever since. (That’s what he tells himself, anyway.)

“It’s always the quiet ones,” he remarks, watching Mark stuff half a donut into his mouth.

Jeno grins. “Nice to see you, too, hyung.”

Taeyong glares at him and Mark. “You children are invading my safe zone. I don’t appreciate it,” he huffs. He turns to his fellow agents, lips thinned. “They smell like Axe body spray and greasy potato chips. Someone needs to hose them down.”

“I have candles back in my room,” Johnny proclaims. “There’s _Christmas on the Beach_ and _Soft Blanket_. My personal favorite is _Cozy by the Fire_.”

“At least you don’t have Donghyuck here,” Mark says, cheeks stuffed with donut. “He’d cause an actual riot.”

Wendy pats him on the back. “Kid, you’re not making your case.” She goes on her tip-toes to wrap her arm around his shoulders as she waves over Jeno. “Come on, boys. I’ll show you around. Let this cool unni show you the glamorous lifestyle of an agent.”

After Wendy leads Mark and Jeno out of the room, Taeyong bites a chocolate-glazed donut and asks, “How’d they even get recruited? Aren’t they high schoolers? Don’t we have a policy against that?”

“You started in high school,” Seulgi points out.

“That was _different_.”

“No, not really,” snorts Johnny. “Plus, Jeno and Mark already graduated. They’re becoming agents the _legal_ way.”

“I entered legally!” Taeyong counters. Seulgi and Johnny share a look. “Okay, maybe not _completely_ legal.”

Taeyong’s argument has nothing to support it, so he gets over his petty anger for NCT’s new recruits fairly easily. Once most of the donuts are consumed, he and the other agents go to their respective rooms to get some work done. Taeyong has finished a few missions since the one with Sicheng. He’s helped lead a missings persons investigation, acted as a caretaker for a scientist’s daughter, infiltrated a secret underground base in the countryside — all while performing on weekends as a dancer in the musical of the season. The paperwork that goes along with the missions are tedious, but Taeyong has lessened his stack to ankle-high. By next week, when Sicheng is here, he’ll have it finished.

When lunchtime rolls around, Taeyong heads off to the kitchen room. Inside, Mark and Jeno are laughing over poorly made ham-and-cheese sandwiches. They turn their heads at his arrival, going silent, and Taeyong takes it as his chance to psyche them out, sliding into the seat across from them.

“I’m here to interview you.”

Jeno stops chewing and pales. “B-But. We already had our interview with—”

“My interview is one of character,” Taeyong interrupts pointedly. He lowers his voice, expression stoic. “Do you pour the milk before or after the cereal?”

Taeyong discovers from his impromptu interview that Mark and Jeno had found NCT through Johnny (surprise, surprise). Johnny had slipped them a flier — when did they start making fliers? — and told them that “their lives could change forever.” It’d sounded sketchy, but coming from Johnny it was an intriguing proposition.

In general, Mark is a studious kid, about to start university in the fall as a publishing major. Becoming an agent is more of a side-job to him, some extra cash he can get to pay off student loans and buy gifts for his materialistic boyfriend. He’s loved the mystery genre since he was young, and the prospect of a “secret agent life” is straight out of the novels.

Jeno, on the other hand, wants this to be a full-time job similar to Wendy, who’s always travelling across the world and finding adventures at every corner. He wants to eventually meet his pen pals from China and bring them to visit Seoul — when he has enough money, that is. Jeno tells Taeyong, shy, that he’s envious of his relationship with Sicheng. He wants a love like that, where language is a crossable barrier no matter who’s on the other side.

Most importantly, Mark and Jeno pour the milk after the cereal.

——

Johnny pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window, sepia-toned aviators perched on his nose. “I drive you around so often, dude. I should get paid.” He flips his hair out of his face. “What’s the hourly salary for chauffeurs? Asking for a friend.”

“Not happening,” says Taeyong, adjusting his cap. He climbs into the car, throws his backpack in the backseat, and lays his arm on the edge of the window. “Nice try, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Worth a shot.” Johnny shrugs. “Off to the plane station. Hold on tight. I don’t ever go over the speed limit, but I feel like I should always say that.”

Today is the day Sicheng is coming back to Seoul. He and Taeyong have been planning this trip since last Christmas. Once the airplane lands they’ll be off on a tour of South Korea. After a day to themselves in the comfort of the apartment, they’re taking Winnie and going to Jeju Island for the first leg of the tour. A family vacation, so to speak, and Taeyong can barely contain his excitement as he chats with Johnny.

“The musical is off for the next couple weeks, so we’re great on that front. Sicheng graduated already, and he’s looking into gigs all over the continent, not just China, so we can travel together. I’ve also requested time off from NCT, which was a hell of a lot more trouble than I thought it would be. I mean, I can’t believe how long I’ve stayed with the agency.” A grin slowly spreads across Taeyong’s face. “I suppose it paid off in the end.”

“I think,” Johnny starts tentatively, while they’re stopped at a red light, “I’ll take a break from NCT, too. Not because I’m old, don’t you dare make that joke.” Taeyong bites his tongue, suppressing a chortle. “There’s something I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

Johnny smiles, fingers tapping the steering wheel. “Bring Jaehyun to Chicago,” he confesses, cheeks pink. “I... I want him to meet my family. We can all go to Chinatown, visit Navy Pier, jetski on Lake Michigan. I haven’t been to the Shedd Aquarium in ages.” He laughs. “Plus I miss Portillo’s chocolate cake.”

“Are you gonna tell him about NCT?”

Humming, Johnny just shrugs. “Who knows. Whatever happens, happens.” He turns to Taeyong, leering. “My love’s a smart cookie. He knows three languages and can beat me in a chess game. He’ll figure it out.”

Taeyong scoffs, “Sure he will.”

“Hey, not all of us can get lucky and meet our soulmate through our secret agent work,” huffs Johnny. “Yeah, I’m calling you out. Fight me — but not literally, I am driving.”

Johnny drops Taeyong off. There’s still half an hour until Sicheng’s plane is scheduled to touch down, and it’ll take even longer because of customs and security. Since he’s in the area, Johnny wants to grab takeout from Jaehyun’s favorite Mexican restaurant. Mark likes the tacos there, too.

In the airport, Taeyong watches the electronic signboard that tracks all the flights. Arriving. Departing. Delayed. His eyes are on the lookout for Sicheng’s flight, his hands gripping the same square of cardboard he’d written for the Chinese transport nearly two years ago. The memory from back then is fresh in his mind, Sicheng’s clunky Korean and pure smile, the rapid beating of Taeyong’s heart as he gradually found himself falling in love.

When the signboard blinks and indicates that Sicheng’s plane has landed, Taeyong excitedly waits outside the designated gate and holds up the cardboard sign. He knows he has to wait, so he can’t help but perk up every time the doors open. One after another, people of all kinds exit with their luggage rolling behind them.

There’s only one Chinese male he’s interested in, and as Sicheng approaches him, the cutest smile in the world on his face, Taeyong greets him with a phrase he’s been practicing for months in Mandarin.

“Are you mine?”

Sicheng laughs, swooping down to capture Taeyong’s lips with his, breath laced with spearmint. “Yes, I am most definitely yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS A JOURNEY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH thank you everyone who read, gave kudos, bookmarked, and/or commented on d&p! i apologize for taking so long to finish it, i got super distracted by lots of things lol. can't believe this is the longest fic i’ve finished to date! wow!! i never expected to receive so much love for d&p.... i thought (and honestly still think) it was a lackluster fic, not super exciting despite being an “agent au” so to speak, but d&p will forever hold a special place in my heart for more reasons than one. maybe, one day, i'll come back to tweak some things for stylistic purposes, but for now, i'm satisfied! so, i also wanna include a couple messages for peeps who helped me along the way.....
> 
> @krys I LOVE U,, u actually spurred me to keep writing d&p tbh. u read the fic despite not even liking nct!!! and i!!!! was ecstatic!!!!! who knows if you’ll ever finish reading it, i think it was about halfway done when u stopped lmao all i know now is that u are actually a FAN of nct now & u have a lot of Taeyong Love :-) was that my fault? yea, probably, but ZERO REGRETS
> 
> @lauren YO KID WOW i told u i would send the fic to u after i finished and GUESS WHAT I JUST DID!? it feels like so long ago when u shot me a message abt taewin LOL i’m so happy that?? that happened??? like, you’re such a Cool Person!!! even tho we had unintentionally super long messages & took 4518 yrs to figure out how to message normally i’m just so??? happy???? at this Friendship™??? 
> 
> ok ok final notes!! as always, i’m on tumblr if u wanna ask any pressing questions abt the fic. i was thinking of writing spin-offs, but i don’t think i have the patience and willpower OTL but! like i said, any content relating to this fic is in my “d&p” tag linked below :-)
> 
> and seriously........ THANK! YOU! ALL! FOR! READING! 
> 
> chapter title: [“paradise” by nct127](https://youtu.be/Uced_0G2oKI) / [tumblr tag](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/d&p)


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